Short Stories from the Heart

Memories of the Heart

I stood on the brow of the hill. The wind howled around me as I stared blankly ahead at the building iI once knew so well. Something inside me burned a strong desire of an aching heart possibly. I had no hatred for the place, but I also had no love for it. Only remorse, regret, and a sorrow too deep to explain.  

The fence that surrounded the place seemed to sway to the sound of the wind. So many memories overwhelmed me. Most of the fence was swallowed up by ivy. Leaves were entangled in the plant that seemed to suck the life from the gate. I stood up a little straighter, trying to face my fear that had held me down for so long. I had been hiding my emotions very well so far. 

In the distance behind the gate was the old mill. Its once form body seemed to now slump. Maybe it was the way the gambreled roof seemed to still hold its self together and how the sides of the mill flaked apart. But the mill was still as brilliant against the grey sky. I had hidden from it for too long. The sight killed me, but it was not like I could leave now. Not after what I had put myself through to come here. 

As I started to make my way down the hill I noticed the faint green of moss over the greying mill. The sight haunted me. Oh, how things had changed. 

As I walked through the gate the faint sound of wind echoed through the mill, making it more terrifying than it already was. As I walked closer the sound of the rushing water soon drowned the wind out. it was awful how the water was still able to freely move and how the sound hurt so bad. 

The stream was now clearer and in the water black floats were visible. They would gracefully rise and fall as the water pushed them back and forth. I paused for a moment, my heart beating louder. it was all too much. So familiar, yet so different. So timeless, yet so changed with time. The wheel continued to move slowly round. 

Making it to the old mill finally, I am overwhelmed by painful memories. As a young man, I use to ride there often. I was not so afraid of this place then like I am now. I remember holding a firm hand on my horse.

I use to come only for her. Nelly, the daughter of the miller. The most beautiful girl I had ever met. I would come to talk to her any chance I would get. I was young. I was stupid. I was in love.

I stumble into the mill. It is so bare now, not like what I use to know. It was liked hollowed out shell of its former self. I skeleton, bare to the bone. Still being dragged through my own memory, I collapsed to my knees, shaking so hard. I use to wait in line and talk to her. She was so kind and so free-spirited. For all I cared the weel could stop or go it did not maker to me. She is what mattered to me. 

It has been twenty long and painful years since the last time I stood here. I have hidden myself and lost everything I loved. Nelly is now wed and happy with a man whom I am not. The miller is now dead. And with his death, the mill became old and abandoned. The old mill is being torn down soon it is abanded and unloved. But the mill has stood through all of this. Time has changed both of us. Making us old and weary. leftovers of many stories that would die with us, never being told.

My muscles ache as I bury my hands in the dirt. Tears flow down my face. I let all my pain out, all of the sorrow out. It was all held in for too long. It all has to go, as all good things go with time. 

The mill and I are grey. 

We are faded with time. 

We will both fall into ruin and be recked. We will be forgotten, unloved. The mill and I are bound into a fortune of toil. There is no escaping it. 

All men eventually go. The stream of the mill will still flow. The world will be the same without our story. Everything will move on. 

But right now through all my last regrets, last thoughts, last pains, the wheel moves slowly round.