A Walk Through Memory Grove
I felt it first when I walked on the bank of the man made stream. The rush of the busy water. The sound of her voice made me think that a chat as this time would be simply unproductive. She had too many errands to attend to, rather than dilly dallying with me.
It came again as I waltzed with a stranger underneath the leaves that muted the glow of an overhead street lamp. Drifting snow appeared as curious pixies, intrigued by our attempts to dance. Our feet traced random patterns on the cut and laid stone. A porch to the river below. A horse drawn carriage trotted up on the road, across the river. The couple inside were too fascinated with the lights bouncing in the other's eyes to notice us watching them.
Rats. It bugs me to find half-written pieces on my computer. And there are dozens more in the notebooks that haunt the corners of our bedroom.
When I found this, I was tempted to finish it. But I couldn't. I no longer remember what the emotion was that drove me start this piece. Sure I remember most of the night that this took place, but I can't bring back the feelings. I remember having them, but I can't feel them now. To continue writing it without that driving force feels dishonest to the story and the reader.
And so, that leaves a mystery. Who is "she" and why were we hanging by a stream of all places? What was "it"?
The dance I remember clearly. I remember feeling magic. I can't remember why I went went to a river for a date with a guy I barely knew though.
Maybe I should pass it off to an AP high school literature arts teacher. They sure know how to dissect things for messages that may or may not be there. I can't figure it out, and I'm the one who wrote it.
On the bright side, here is a cat.