The Implications Of Affection and Other Things

A Story Unknown

Not long ago,
When we were still young wild and free,
A family of four were we.
Still weary of migration, yet eager to explore.

With the wood creaking under our feet,
And the aptitude of discovery.
We came across an attic,
There a dusty box intrigued us most.

A smirk curled up my brother's lips,
As hands worked the box open.
I sat beside him awaiting for the new mystery to unfurl.

Box inside a box,
Encased like Russian Dolls,
Was a journal teared apart.
Wrapped in brown paper along with two to three old photographs.

He blew away the thin layer of dust, chucked the pictures aside.
The new story ready to be read.
Young fingers gently opened the book,
The yellow pages scribbled upon in old ink.

The journal of two young souls, us alike.
Came alive their story in the voice of mine.
The story of youthful love,
A mighty bond unknown.

Lisa, was the maiden's name.
John the bold young man.
Crossed paths had they, when the times were still rough.

The journal must have belonged to the young man John,
For it held stories of wars fought.

Not many words fo touch our hearts,
When our ages are still tender.
But this one tale was different,
It played with our emotions, a movie in our heads.

As the journal came to an abrupt end,
Droplets of dried blood mixed within the words of ink.
The maiden had lost her life,
In the hands of her dear lover.

I thought I heard a bullet shot,
My mind began playing games,
As John's words circled in my head.
The hurtful end was more than enough to scratch the tale in our hearts,
Forever.

Dear brother's hand,
was held in mine,
As the book fell shut.

There hasn't been a story
That hit me as hard,
Right where it really hurts.

Maybe the magic of eloquence,
Or of the tragic loss of love.
The ordinary romance turned into much much more.

Twelve years from then,
Back to the present.
I still hold the battered book,
The sentiment I could just never let go.

My brother remained unaffected,
For him the incident soon forgotten.
Probably the insensitivity of growing masculinity.

But the romanticist in me,
Still clutched the story close to my heart.

The story of young lovers,
Limitless time,
Endless trust,
And Infinite love.
The roller-coaster ride of love, loss, anger and trust.