Write me a story

Write me a story he says... Make it mine he says...Make me feel as though I am the only one who occupies your universe, use those words of yours and put me at ease. Weave a tale that takes me away from here and delivers me into your innermost thoughts and feelings, I am addicted to knowing what is inside of you..

you never talk anymore..

you never write anymore..

you never read to me..

Once upon a time, we would stay up nights, with a bottle of wine, and I’d read to him my stories, and we would recount our life, he’d watch me intently, a smile here, a sadness there, according to what I am saying, he would react and we would share. I didn’t know then, that it was away of controlling me, through my own words and feelings, and he’d use it all against me whenever he could. There is nothing more painful than having your own words used against you, your own life made an example, it knocks you hard, and causes a deep pain in your stomach and heart.

Should I tell him of the dreams I have? Should I tell him my fears? I used to allow him into my mind, share every word, now I can’t bear for him to see, my dreams that are wrapped up in suspicions of him?

Should I make this story a fantasy complete with happily ever after? Like a child asking for a bedtime story that never stops at just one. He asks me to write him a story. I could make it a love story that is never ending yet not without limits, obstacles and spaces of time that we will never be overcome.

Write me story about the future he says... Tell me what do you see?

Write me a story about physical love he says...

Write me a story about you he says...

I am right here and I have never hidden away from you. I may have been lost for awhile but I am not leaving again ever. It was you who found me lonely and broken, it was you and this writing that has pieced me back together. I am ever me, and you are ever you. No true beginning and no true end.

Write me a story about life he says... Write me a story about where we go from here he says...

To ease his fears, I write him the stories, fiction and lies in the genre I created, what ever would please him, I put in those stories, and he was happy to read of how happy we were.

I am his ghost writer. I am forever destined to be no more than a shadow. A figure in chalk outline, my stories fill the space within. They seep over the talcum edges and erase the uncertainty of all that is contained inside.

Write me a story he says... Make it mine he says...

Forever my love. I say. Forever mine. I say.

Once upon a time they lived Happily ever after.