Short Stories

First Time

this is a random little story about moving on

it was influenced/thought of when i was listening to First Time by Ruth B and happier by Olivia Rodrigo, so there a few quotes and similarities in there

enjoy :)

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It's been three months, but today was the first time I didn't check my phone for his messages, I didn't even unlock my phone. I went straight to the kitchen and made myself my favourite brekkie, scrambled eggs with bacon, lightly toasted sourdough, fried mushrooms and a has brown. Boiled the kettle, made myself an Australian Afternoon, sat on my balcony and watched the world come alive, marveling in the beauty of the world. Finally, I'm content with being alone, loneliness is no longer my demon, we made up and now she's my guardian angel. The late morning sun soothes my body, lulling me into a heavenly state of relaxation, all the pain I've felt melting away, the wounds becoming beautiful scars, shimmering butterflies, sparkling hummingbirds, shining suns, illustrating my mind with our story. And for the first time I don't mind that I have scars, they make me who I am and for the first time I'm totally fine being by myself.

I spend the day writing, getting the next chapter of my book done, the book we planned, the book I discarded and now the book I'm revisiting, because no matter how much I've hurt, this is my story, and I control my narrative. Lunch isn't his favourite today, its mine, sure they're similar, but I do mine better. Sourdough in the pan, sliced truss tomatoes on a slice of ham, covered in cheddar, a pinch of oregano and thyme on top. Slide it in the grill, after a quick fry, to melt the cheese and infuse the spices and voila, the best grilled cheese I've ever tasted. Out on my balcony again I think about him for the first time today, and for the first I don't mind that he's found somebody else, in fact it feels good, he should be happy. Regardless of my private doubts and judgements of the replacement, they seem to be like puzzle pieces, unsurprisingly they're more like the puzzle pieces that don't quite fit, but you want to finish the puzzle and make some progress, so you push them until they bruise on the edges and squeeze together.

Two chapters today. That's a record for the past year at least, for the first time I can get my work done and it feels good, great even. The story is coming along amazingly, the characters have been introduced, their stories kick-started and their issues and the plot complications are slowly being realised. Chemistry and connection bleed through into almost every word, double meanings in every sentence, hidden secrets snuck in, inside jokes thrown around. It's a memoir so to speak, done my way. Next there'll be a story about two people, who battled through so much to reach paradise, only for one to leave and the other to destroy their haven. And when the other came back, all that remained were the burnt and blackened shards of a heart, ripped out and broken by its giver. The keeper of the heart watching the coals die after the fire of self-righteous fury, everything they'd built razed to the ground, every promise they'd made as broken as their hearts. As they both walked away from their once glorious heaven, remaking their hearts from whatever survived, one picked up a weed, a seed of the fire. As they both rebuilt their hearts, they moved on, except one didn't, one held on, one tried to clear the ruins by burning the rubble. As the other set a blazing trail away from their desecrated past, the other watched them leave and wept, waiting like a crying stone statue. Then I met the new me, the new me took a sledgehammer to that statue, the new me locked the door to that broken world and slid the golden butterfly key under the doormat. The new me pulled the old me out and threw her out.

The new me fixed herself and now she's stronger and better, and oh god I hope he's happy, but not like how he was with me. Yes, its selfish, but it's me.