The train bobbed and shuddered, making me dizzy. Luckily, I was much used to the dizziness, after all those years of train rides. I was staring out the window at the rural fields and plains that had houses and scattered among them. I blinked back my tears, the tears of my memories.
I'm twenty five now, and it's been six years since the last time I saw Hank.
"Miss," a voice called me, "tea?"
The cabin lady stood in the aisle with a cart. It had two large kettles placed on top of it, along with five stacks of paper cups. Her blues eyes noticed the wetness around my eyes and her smile fell.
"No," I smiled, "it's fine."
She gave me once last look then pushed her cart onwards.
I looked down at the ring that hang off a chain around my neck. The ring Hank gave me.
It would've been the last thing I had of him, but no. I wasn't.
I looked down at the sketch book placed on my lap and flipped through the pages.
Yes, I did become an artist. I did.
I'll be honest with you that I did draw hundreds of sketches of Hank. His smile. His eyes. His face. His posture. Though, the favourite out of all the drawings I had of his was the one I had painted and hung on my wall at home. The painting I refused to sell, no matter how high the price was. The girl, the boy, the tree and the pink spring painted scene around them.
When you meet someone, and that person becomes so dear to your heart, you'll never forget them. Their memories will be in yours, forever flowing like the stream in the garden. They'll live in your heart, lit like bright lanterns in the darkness. You'll cherish them, you'll treasure them. When you desperate from them, you'll remember them more then ever, and you'll love them more than ever.
Hey, Hank. I love you. Please, love me and watch me flourish as I live on.
Forever and always, I'll remember you and I will live in your memory.
"Owl face."
"Come to me."
Let's keep going.
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Hey guys, I'd love some feedback on what you thought of the story. If you have any questions or suggestions, I'd be happy to listen! :D
Love,
WhisperLeaves
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RomanceMy dear friend, my parents are divorced. Maybe I should say that. For most times of the year, I'd stay with my mother, through the seasons of summer, winter and autumn. But when spring casted it's pollen and petals, I made my way to my fathers hous...
