Pay attention to the dates.
the diary entry '10 years time' was written exactly one year before i met my wife.
This is my story:
22/11/07.
The scratching of the pen became rhythmic to her ears. As if creating its own melody with, with each monotonous stroke. The two curves that created the tiny heart were etched deeply into the page, with only a few strands, straying from its predestined course. Her delicate fingers skilfully guided it, as if familiar with the pattern. The rhythm delineated from not the sounds that were heard, but the variety in which they were shaped. Her hand grew weary with the repetition of the drawing.
Enveloped in darkness, the clock showed just a few minutes past two o� clock, which did nothing to subdue the persistent ritual. The empty drawing of the heart was not only a result of her insomnia, but a representation of the emptiness that haunted her. She willed to finally colour the heart in, but was unable to lie to herself, even in such a feeble portrayal of her life.
Even in the darkness, the mirrors reflection remained. Ironically, the only thing she didn�t want to see existed twice in the room; her timid body, hunched, in the centre of the bed. Her hair hung in curtains around her face, hiding from view, glorious hazel eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.
*
He layed on his back, watching the unchanging ceiling once again. The spinning fan cast illuminating shadows around the room, from the unusually bright moon. The curtains were once again left open, as if they offered some escape to the rest of the world, and outside of his own mind. Music, from his I-Pod, offered a familiar escape, allowing him to assume the identity, of those portrayed in each tune. Just one more night alone.
He rolled to his side, holding his pillow even tighter, and turning up the music once again. Holding his hands together, past the pillow, he spoke in his head, to an unseen friend. Coming to terms, with his inability for sleep, he reached to his bedside table, hesitating before flicking the light switch on. Next to it, sat a notebook, just open to a blank page. Grabbing the pen that was attached to it, he began to write;
2:39am, 22/11/07
Title -10 Years time:
To think, in 10 years time.
What would I have accomplished?
Will I be married?
Will I be happy?
Will I regret what I�ve done?
Will I go to sleep and think, what COULD HAVE happened?
Will I be laying in bed with the love of my life?
..or a cheap girl I met on the street?
Will I remember the day I let her get away?
..or earlier that day when we walked on the beach hand in hand?
Will I remember when I lost my virginity to a girl I don�t remember?
...or the first time we kissed in the pouring rain?
Will I remember the exact shape and colour of her eyes?
...or can I simply turn around and look for my self?
Will I walk down the street, and see her in the arms of another man?
Or will I go to sleep with her in my arms every night. And never want anything more.
*
22/11/08.
Once again, she lay awake. Haunted by the insomnia, that has existed for over a year. The familiar piece of paper sits on her lap, and the room is filled with the rhythmic delineation of the heart etched into her world. However, the lines that have drawn the heart, over the past year, have strayed. There are now hundreds, that have roamed through the centre, filling it with a passionate red, that sticks out from the page. Accepting the fact that she is once again unable to sleep, she gives up, tossing the book to the floor. Laying her head down, she takes comfort in his heartbeat, the new rhythm that both helps her sleep, and enjoy staying awake. Even in his sleep, he wraps his arms around her tighter, as they both realize, he will never let go.
*
He lye awake, relishing in his inability to sleep. Left on his bedside table, in the darkness, is the same notebook, with just one realization scribbled on it.
1:30am, 21/11/08.
It only took 1 year.
