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The Post-It This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

As I perch on my intricate balcony, staring up at the glowing moon, I am overcome by an overwhelming feeling of loss that I have become well acquainted with. Tears begin to drip down my cheeks, and I stifle a sob, my eyes streaming. The night is mysterious and beautiful, but I take no pleasure in the solitary silence as I normally do. Tonight is different. Tonight, the wind, usually so warm and gentle as it caresses my cheek lovingly, blows and gushes a melancholy chill right into my heart. Tonight, the moon, who normally smiles down on me so kindly, cheerfully, its light brightening the night, has turned traitor and scowls at me. Tonight, the trees don’t dance gracefully above me, playing tag with the darting shadows. Tonight, they stand straight, looming above me ominously, creaking and groaning. Tonight, no crickets chirp. And I know, as emotions rush through me and leak out my eyes, that it is not the night’s fault it has suddenly become so unfriendly. It is the driver’s fault. The one who made the note on the countertop not true.

I’ll be home at 8:00.
I love you.

You never came home that night. And you never will. As I stare out at the suddenly unfriendly night, my tears dripping off my nose and gleaming like jewels, I realize that yesterday was the last day of my life. I died with you. And I lost two loves. I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. The one containing words that will never be fulfilled. Salty drops fall upon it, quickly soaking the yellow Post-It. Yellow. My favorite color. I smile sadly as I recall when you filled my convertible with yellow tulips. I laughed so hard, then you kissed me. I’ll never forget that day. You’ll never kiss me again. I hold the Post-It out over the edge of the balcony, and it flutters in the breeze, eager to be rid of my warm grip. And I let it go. It floats off into the night, looking almost surreal, and I think of your last words to me, I love you, and I know they were a question. I gaze at the yellow spot on the horizon, and I, in turn, whisper my final words to you, “I love you.” And the spot disappears.




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kate-the-shrew said...
Oct. 5, 2010 at 6:52 pm:
Thanks! For the comment and the word! I still haven't quite gotten the hang of getting my stuff read, so it's really great that you took the time to notice it. :)
 
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ImaginedangerousThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 11, 2010 at 9:54 am:

Your description is very good.

I read your user profile, so here's a cool word: Plectrum. I love it because it sounds really cool, but it's totally useless- it means 'a guitar pick'. :)

 
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Babycakes56 said...
Jul. 22, 2010 at 10:01 pm:
so sad :( i love how you describe everything, like the trees and the breeze
 
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