Creative Writing: My Autonomy

Decent Essays
I’m sure you’ve noticed by the postage stamp, that I’ve already left the place of my agony. Everything is over – I’m free. Free as a bird: burnt nest, baby birds killed. I’ve chucked away the chains, but my arms remain shackled.

This explanation won’t be chronological, and I don’t even know how everything was exactly. I only know I was as cold as a politician, that I started with Madmoiselle”, and that, many times, I mentioned “deeper reasons” and that “I can’t only think of myself”, how “I would never make her happy”, “my restless character”, “family obligations”, my heart knows how I feel”.

Pale like her white blouse, she was looking at me with eyes widely open - eyes in which the flame had been extinguished. When I was almost
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Her voice was so different, that a cold chill ran through my entire body.

She collapsed into the chair, banged gently on the keys of the piano, and rested her head in her hand. The strings sounded disorderly, much like the thoughts in my head. The lampshade cast green light over both of us. It was dark in the corners.

I stood there like a condemned man. “Suffer criminal!”, I told myself, “You deserve much worse!”

Maybe five minutes later, she lifted her head and looked at me in my sad state, no dignity, no pride, no manly honor. Her eyes were wet, cold like the first winter rain. And behind her eyes was an emptiness where/in which there was no place for me anymore. I realized that our relationship was over, that all ties were severed, and that I couldn’t go back. I came close to her, knelt down, took her cold hand in mine, and pressed it to my lips; again I blurted out something clumsy, something like: “God is my witness, I’ve never loved anyone the way I have loved you and I never will again. But do consider, maybe these reasons of mine are meaningless, and I’m a person to be despised, unworthy of the light that you shone on me. Can you forgive me?
She didn’t pull her hand
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