It took me years to heal my broken heart and now, at last, I had managed to gather the courage to return to the place where everything happened.
Its ruins rose before my eyes, even more majestic than when the building was standing.
I entered and went straight to that room that had appeared so many times in my dreams. It was all there, just as I left it, it had only been touched by the passage of time. The large eighteenth-century sofa flanked by two small velvet wing chairs, covered with dust. The large windows that filled the room with light, broken and mistreated. The ornate paper on the wall that I had always wanted to remove and was now falling on its own. everything was there. Even the beam on which he hung to kill himself, broken.
Everything was kept as I remembered from the last time I saw it. He could have been lying there, dead.
I knelt on the floor in the last place he had lain and I cried.
I wish there was some way to know if you’re okay. I wish you could see everything I’ve achieved, even if it has been without you. I wish your memory was not falling apart like this house and I could see your face every time I close my eyes and smell your sweet scent every time I think of you and feel the warmth of your arms even if it’s only in my imagination.
I wish your memory was not in ruins threatening to collapse forever and leave me alone and empty, with nothing to keep from you.
The house shuddered in a terrible warning. But it was not the house that trembled on its foundations, it was my heart. My broken heart.
This is a story I wrote for my master. The idea was to write a short story from what the photo above suggested us.
I hope you liked it!