Miracle

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BadBitch. 

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PROLOGUE

Sometimes you’re just in that much need of a miracle.

And as I sat there, my hair drenched, my blue eyes lost and confused; I had realized that I’d given up, lost faith, demised of any hope and I began to apprehend just the meaning of life. How even though one may be blessed with it, depending on how you use it, that is the meaning of life, not the birth, but the journey. It had also began to occur to me that I was not even alive if that was the case, I was merely just a missing soul drifting the Earth plane, seeking for guidance, for an answer, for life.

The rain kept on spitting, harsh and cold, filled with no emotion – just what I was feeling at that instant. All I could fathom was that he had left me, he was no longer there, and he was no longer mine. I thought I had him figured out, I thought I knew where I stood with him, I thought he was the answer to my undying question, but it turned out I was wrong, as ever, I was just a little obstacle in his path that he had to break and crush to get past, and being defeated had left me with nothing inside anymore, no heart, no soul, no being.

He was the only thing that didn’t make me question whether I was alive or not. But now he was no longer here, with me . . . I was no longer in his arms, I was no longer his ‘gorgeous girl’ as he always used to phrase it, and I remember, the first time he said that, we were at the barn, the night sky as radiant as ever, and I had my head on his chest, and we were counting the stars, our hands clutched together.

“You’re my gorgeous girl, my world, my everything,” he kissed my forehead and I blushed, deeply, the crimson color crawling on to my cheekbones.

“Don’t leave me?” I whispered, loud enough for only his ears to hear, loving him with all my strength.

“Never, we’ll grow old together, just you and me my sweetheart,” and he had kissed my lips, softly and gently at first, and then we couldn’t control ourselves, expressing our love in the form of physical art, because the bonds we shared, nobody would ever quite know just how much they meant.

Though I had been foolish, to believe that he could ever love a girl like me, a girl so broken and fragile on the inside, so distraught and beaten down, a girl that had no confidence because her life had always been a failure, a girl that could never ever be loved, and there I was, always soaking in his words, reeling them in, admiring them, and the bitterness of it all, actually believing them, but no longer, I could never to that to myself again.

I stared up at the sky, the rain diminishing, and the clouds overhead starting to dwell.

Perfect weather for the not particularly perfect end of a tragic love story.