"Listen," she stroked his cheek. Telling him to listen was pointless because he always listened. He listened when she talked. When she sighed. When she laughed. When she breathed. When she thought. When she felt.
"You needn't be enraged, love." Her voice soothing, pacifying the relentless waves to peace.
"Forgive. Not for them but for you. For me." She instructed quietly.
"Let go, so it doesn't anchor you to the past. So it doesn't hinder you from growing to your potential." Her voice rung of melancholy, of remorse.
"Put yourself first. Let go. Forgive. For you. For me." She pleaded. The last two phrases meant the same to him for she consumed him, so he became another proper noun, common noun, that means her.
YOU ARE READING
her | completed
Short StoryA story about a boy and girl who found love and the meaning of life. He consumed her, and she consumed him. A tragedy.
