There are two types of people in this world: The Fallen and The Floating. An unhealthy dose of normality injected into your bloodstream as a baby; The blood that pumps through your heart matches your father's collar, to good to know any better. When at the age of six you knew no worse pain than that of a scraped knee or dead goldfish. In a world full of pain and misfortune, your father died at the age of eighty-four and at the age of ninety your mother followed. A quiet departure; your father a blood clot at work your mother of old age while sleeping. When you fall asleep at night you miss them but, not enough to pay them with waking hours, it was their time; no need to mourn the inevitable. When you hear stories of the girl in your high school class, you shudder, as the thorns and thistles she called a childhood made scratches in your memory and scars on your heart. She is a happy woman and although you try you'll never understand why. That's why you married her, to give the fallen what they never had; and yet she has treasures that you could never have. In a crimson box underneath the stair sits saturated memories. She can recall specific dates by smelling her favourite candle. Every year your wife's friends will gawk at the Christmas gift exchange as you watch her unwrap another clean linen candle. You and her friends will never understand why she prefers the smell of clean linen over any other fragrance. You and your wife make a disgusting amount of money and yet she still clips coupons and even though she is thirty years old she still makes collages out of old magazines. She loves sixties music but, knows absolutely nothing about it. She's watched every single Harry Potter movie a hundred times and yet she can't fall asleep at night unless there playing. She could buy anything in the world for herself and would rather make all of her own things; to this day, she has only ever purchased new things from the store to give to local organizations. She won't eat meatloaf, in fact, she hates it but, she makes the best meatloaf you've ever had every year on the same day. You will never understand why in the middle of June she buys a plane ticket to Texas and never goes. Sometimes she sits on the edge of her bed with a torn up baby photo in her hand and just cries. You don't ask her why she does these things because if she knew she would probably stop doing them. When she cries you don't ask why because you two fell in love at an old theatre watching gory old horror films over a shared love of seltzer water. You proposed to her a year later in that same theatre over a new found love. She gives you beautiful poetry every valentines day and sings to you for every birthday; life some sort of rare bird she is a lovely one. You loved her more than life itself and even though you wonder you'll never wander. When she cries you don't ask why you simply hold her in your arms and say "I Love You!"
This is an original short story, please do not steal. Thank you for enjoying my blog. If you have any pointers or anything you would like to know about the post please feel free to comment below.
