Everything Goes on for Ages
She runs her fingers over the edge of the notebook and stares out at the water. It feels like the sky is watching, or the birds, at least.
She picks up and oar and rows the boat further out, abandoning the notebook by her feet for a moment.
The wind rifles through the pages, and she glances down. Pauses.
a million people before me and after me... what are the chances we'd meet in this lifetime? it feels like destiny. or as close as I could ever come to destiny. it feels so real.
She lets the wind tickle her forehead as she closes her eyes, listening to the cricket sounds nearby. The lake is so peaceful, so why couldn't her mind be too?
"Come here," he laughed as he caught her wrist, and she twirled away, knowing he'd follow after her. They chased each other feebly through the garden, until at last he caught her by the waist and tugged at the ribbon holding her hair. It fell free, and her eyes fell on his lips.
The water splashes, and she startles and watches a fish jump out of the water, then fall back in. The canoe rocks, more from her movement than the fish's, and she clings to the sides.
Slowly, she picks up the notebook, touches the edges of the pages. She doesn't dare read more. But still, she opens it.
his eyes I think I could drown in. is that cliche? I don't know what else to say it's just so great when he's looking at me with that look! like it's just me and him, spinning, spinning, and he'll never let me go
She tears out the page and drops it in the lake. The words melt in the water, the paper turning dark and fragile and tearing apart. She watches it until she can't any longer, then rows vehemently away.
Without reading the next page, she crumples it up. Feeds to the lake. And the next. And the next. She stabs them with the oar. She screams his name. She gets splashed and water gets into the bottom of the canoe and a bird overhead screeches.
he won't even look at me
The water is so dark.
there are moments i think he forgets i exist. doesnt even say hello. hates me. screams.
She plunges her hand in the lake, wondering if there are bigger fish down there. Ones who would bite at her hand, or eat up these pages, or swallow this whole boat in one gigantic tragedy.
he forgot to take his shoes. he set them out to dry, after he was in the rain. and theyre so wet sitting here in the foyer. and he's taken everything and left, and he forgot his shoes
She tosses the rest of the notebook in, and with the cover and everything it's too heavy to float. She'd be too heavy to float too. And it sinks.
She watches it, leaning over the edge of the canoe at a dangerous angle, until she can't see it. Until she's sure she can't see it.
Then the water is peaceful. Everything goes on for ages: the water, the sky. The birds call to each other. She picks up an oar. And continues rowing.