The Ironical Chronicle LoLyfe.co.uk

First Instincts

“My first instinct was to write you an Email...”

Waiting, he stood on the balcony, watching the melting snow cause tiny cascades of water to trickle down the slatted wooden roof and pour off into an icy puddle on the ground below. His attention was broken from this when she appeared on the pathway below. He watched as she walked, not hurriedly, but with a purpose. She stopped and as she did so his heart did too, but it was pause to light a cigarette. He carried on his watching as the smoke was blown from her mouth and rose into flowery plumes above her head and then she began to progress again.
This was his daily routine, to watch and yearn as she walked away. He would let his gaze follow her for as long as it was possible, until she disappeared from view. And then he would keep watching that empty space with the hope that she might re-appear, but she never did. So his task now became to wait for the bus to arrive at the distant stop, knowing that she would soon be on board and being transported away from him for what always seemed like an eternity. Every day was the same, the watching, the waiting, the hoping. His eyes were always looking for distraction, trying to make it last longer, but they always came back to rest on the road where the bus would soon be arriving.
He had realised all too late that what he felt when she walked that path was that he missed her. It only dawned on him this day that it wasn't the fact that her presence wouldn't be felt around him that made him miss her; he missed her even when she was near. This realisation had come to him in a clear instant that made him regret not saying and doing the things that had come so naturally before. He had realised that he had missed her for over a year. What causes a man to ignore his feelings this way? Why does human nature always dictate the way to feel, instead of allowing the heart to rule what is important? These questions would remain unanswered as he stood leaning against the balcony railing watching the road, waiting for the bus to arrive. Maybe he should call her, maybe he should send her a message, maybe... there was always a maybe. He wasn't sure why these maybes were so important to him now, probably because he was powerless to affect them, but he held on to them as tightly as he could anyway.
When the bus finally arrived, his task for the day was complete. He resigned his post and walked slowly back inside. It used to feel warm when he did this, but now it just felt empty. Even the smell of her perfume that lingered in the air didn't soothe his pain. He sat down and started to write...

“My first instinct was to write you an Email...”