Letters from Sky Part 16 and Epilogue
- 2 years ago
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Learning To Let Go, Epilogue: Everything Eventuall free porn video
(This final epilogue of my "Learning to Let Go" series of short stories does not contain anything sexual. I'm simply posting it as closure for the story, but -- more importantly -- as my way of processing the pain that our separation has caused. If you're looking for anything as tantalizing as the previous installments, you will be disappointed.)
They say ignorance is bliss, but that is a lie.
Ignorance is simply the absence of pain and you cannot have the luxury of beloved memories without the awful heartbreak of longing.
The Unhappy Ending:
At first, it seemed like things had once more changed for good. Suddenly we had no care in the world about what people thought when they saw us together. In that morning after our fateful campout, I snuggled against Josh as he made our breakfast on the grill. He kept me in his arms as he taught me more about fishing. We went up to the bath house together, showered (and more) together, and walked back to our camp site together. It was, without a doubt, one of the most magical weekends I had in a long time and every day we worked together felt like a kind of celebration.
Then, six months later, everything changed. I came into the office Monday morning and Josh was already seated at the desk, which wasn't necessarily strange, but there was something about him that felt off. When I came to stand next to him, he leaned drastically the other way. When he talked, he didn't look me in the eye and his answers were short and simple. When I placed a hand on his shoulder, he gently shrugged it off. After about half an hour of this, we fell into silence and I could feel the tension in the room.
I asked as calmly as I could, "Is something wrong?"
He wouldn't look at me. In fact, he slowly lowered his face toward the desk and stared, then slowly closed his eyes.
"I can't do this anymore."
The silence slammed into me like a hammer.
I broke it by asking, "Are you quitting work...or us?"
His eyes still closed, he shook his head and shrugged before saying, almost in a whisper, "Both." Then, after a long pause, "All of it."
My heart sank and my stomach twisted. I asked, "Why?"
He finally raised his head to look at me, his eyes wet and his expression strained before answering, "Because the longer this goes on, the more difficult it becomes." I waited for him to continue and he said, now looking down at the desk again, "I stopped looking forward to being home with my family. I spend my weekends and days that I work on cars anxious to be here again. With you.”
I stammered. “I don’t know what to say,” I remarked quietly. “I want to apologize that this became so much more than I expected it to, but-” He looked up at me when I paused and I found my words again, saying, “But I would be lying if I said I wished it hadn’t.”
Josh didn’t respond. He just sat there, looking back down at the desk absent mindedly and nodded. I continued with, “I never meant to drive a wedge between you and your family. I am sorry for that.”
“It’s not your fault.” His statement was deadpan, void of emotion.
I took a deep breath before saying, “Yes, it is.” This time he looked up at me again and kept looking at me, waiting for me to explain. I said, “I had tried to consider all the possibilities before taking that chance to see if there could be more. I worried that I was wrong about you, that you would freak out and assault me or run away and keep your distance from then on. I thought maybe you might be more like Mike: acknowledging your interests and periodically satisfying them, but generally pretending that it wasn’t even part of your personality. And some part of me wondered if your curiosity was far more, like mine; the potential for something special.” I paused before saying, “But I never in my wildest dreams actually thought you would fall in love with me as much as I had fallen in love with you.”
My heart broke for him as he closed his eyes and gave a short laugh, nodding a bit, before his head went still, his lips closed tightly against themselves and tears began spilling from his eyes. I stepped forward, dropping to one knee and placed my hands on his upper arms. He wiped his face and looked at the ground briefly before meeting my eyes with his.
“You’re not the only one to blame,” he said, his voice shaky with emotion. “I was curious about you long before you put your hand in my shirt that first time.” I waited patiently and quietly for him to continue. When he did, he said, “I had been curious about other guys before, but you were the first one that I really started to think about.” He bit his lip for a second and then said, “Andrew told me he wasn’t sure whether you were straight or not-”
I had tilted my head in curiosity. He regarded me plainly and shrugged saying, “He didn’t accuse you or anything, simply said he wouldn’t be surprised if you were a switch hitter.”
I laughed for a second and said, “Well, he wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t know I tend to bat more on one side than the other.” Josh gave a small smile and nodded, chuckling.
He then said, “It planted a seed. I started to wonder what it would be like to be more than just friends. And then, the more stuff we tried, the more I wanted to keep going.” I waited, trying to breathe evenly, as he continued with, “But part me knew the risk I was taking when I didn’t tell you to take your hand out of my shirt.”
Silence crept in between us and, for the first time in a long time, there was distance there, too. I slowly stood and backed away, leaning against the doorframe, regarding him with sorrow.
He then said, “I could feel myself getting further and further away from my family. Losing my temper quicker, not being as interested in spending time with them, just waiting for the next chance to be here. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t resist the feelings I had for you.”
I sighed and said, “Josh, we don’t have to keep doing what we’ve been doing. We can just be friends again, if that’s what you want.”
He smirked, wiping his eyes, and said, “No, we can’t.” He lowered his head again and said, “At least, not for me. I wouldn’t be able to spend the entire day around you and control myself having you that close. I couldn’t have you within arms reach and not touch you, hold you...kiss you.” This last part made him close his eyes again.
He then stood abruptly and said, “That’s why I can’t stay.” He grabbed his phone off the desk and shoved it into his pocket, anger seemingly pouring out his pores as he used his leg to kick the rolling desk chair away and walked toward the door.
I put my arm out as he went to pass me and wrapped it gently around his side and pulled him closer. He paused in his movement and leaned toward me, wrapped his arm around my waist and wrapping his other around my shoulder. The sides of our heads pressed together and I whispered with desperation, “Can you at least give me a chance to say goodbye?”
We held each other for just a few seconds and then he pulled back slightly and we stared at each other, our faces full of anguish at the sense of both longing and loss. We then leaned in, closing our eyes, and shared our last kiss, a slow and deliberate dance of lips that expressed the fulness of the love we had created.
We then broke the kiss and simply pressed our foreheads together, some part of us wishing we could make this moment last forever.
I asked in a breathless expression, “Do have any idea how much I’m going to miss you?”
I felt him slowly nod his head as he said, “I’m going to miss you, too.”
Just as the silence crept in yet again, I declared with tears streaming down my face, “I love you, Josh.”
“I love you, too.”
With that, he broke our embrace and moved past me, walking purposefully toward the door. My heart began to shatter as I watched him exit the office, climb into his vehicle and slowly pull away, never looking back. As the white truck disappeared beyond my view, tears began streaming even harder down my face and my breaths became rapid and desperate.
I retreated back into office, shutting the lights, the blinds and the door and fell resignedly onto the couch for visitors. I cried loudly, not sparing a thought for the office neighbors or people nearby as I grieved for the sudden void that Josh’s departure had left in my life.
For the next month, I had lost all motivation. My time at work was spent slowly going through the motions and my time at home was no different. Every time I pulled into the office, I hoped to see his truck and every time I was disappointed. Every time my phone alerted me to a new message, my heart leapt at the thought that it could be him, only to drop again when I realized it wasn’t. Everywhere I went, I hoped to see him; I only ended up scanning the crowds for a face that wasn’t there.
Even now, thoughts and memories of him fill my mind on a daily basis and I wonder if I ever cross his mind in the same way. I knew I could never have him, not completely, but I had foolishly hoped that at least part of our lives could be dedicated to us. With him gone, I was left with the realization at how foolish that hope had been.
I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before I can think of him and our times together without the searing pain of grief. In times like these, I am sometimes tempted to imagine what life would be like without that agony, to exist in ignorance of what we might have had. Yet that would be simply the absence of pain caused by his ghost that still haunts me.
Ignorance is not bliss. The moments I shared with him, the wonderful sensation of unbelievable happiness were bliss and they were worth every aguishing moment in the hell that his absence has caused.
They say ignorance is bliss, but that is a lie.
Ignorance is simply the absence of pain and you cannot have the luxury of beloved memories without the awful heartbreak of longing.
The Unhappy Ending:
At first, it seemed like things had once more changed for good. Suddenly we had no care in the world about what people thought when they saw us together. In that morning after our fateful campout, I snuggled against Josh as he made our breakfast on the grill. He kept me in his arms as he taught me more about fishing. We went up to the bath house together, showered (and more) together, and walked back to our camp site together. It was, without a doubt, one of the most magical weekends I had in a long time and every day we worked together felt like a kind of celebration.
Then, six months later, everything changed. I came into the office Monday morning and Josh was already seated at the desk, which wasn't necessarily strange, but there was something about him that felt off. When I came to stand next to him, he leaned drastically the other way. When he talked, he didn't look me in the eye and his answers were short and simple. When I placed a hand on his shoulder, he gently shrugged it off. After about half an hour of this, we fell into silence and I could feel the tension in the room.
I asked as calmly as I could, "Is something wrong?"
He wouldn't look at me. In fact, he slowly lowered his face toward the desk and stared, then slowly closed his eyes.
"I can't do this anymore."
The silence slammed into me like a hammer.
I broke it by asking, "Are you quitting work...or us?"
His eyes still closed, he shook his head and shrugged before saying, almost in a whisper, "Both." Then, after a long pause, "All of it."
My heart sank and my stomach twisted. I asked, "Why?"
He finally raised his head to look at me, his eyes wet and his expression strained before answering, "Because the longer this goes on, the more difficult it becomes." I waited for him to continue and he said, now looking down at the desk again, "I stopped looking forward to being home with my family. I spend my weekends and days that I work on cars anxious to be here again. With you.”
I stammered. “I don’t know what to say,” I remarked quietly. “I want to apologize that this became so much more than I expected it to, but-” He looked up at me when I paused and I found my words again, saying, “But I would be lying if I said I wished it hadn’t.”
Josh didn’t respond. He just sat there, looking back down at the desk absent mindedly and nodded. I continued with, “I never meant to drive a wedge between you and your family. I am sorry for that.”
“It’s not your fault.” His statement was deadpan, void of emotion.
I took a deep breath before saying, “Yes, it is.” This time he looked up at me again and kept looking at me, waiting for me to explain. I said, “I had tried to consider all the possibilities before taking that chance to see if there could be more. I worried that I was wrong about you, that you would freak out and assault me or run away and keep your distance from then on. I thought maybe you might be more like Mike: acknowledging your interests and periodically satisfying them, but generally pretending that it wasn’t even part of your personality. And some part of me wondered if your curiosity was far more, like mine; the potential for something special.” I paused before saying, “But I never in my wildest dreams actually thought you would fall in love with me as much as I had fallen in love with you.”
My heart broke for him as he closed his eyes and gave a short laugh, nodding a bit, before his head went still, his lips closed tightly against themselves and tears began spilling from his eyes. I stepped forward, dropping to one knee and placed my hands on his upper arms. He wiped his face and looked at the ground briefly before meeting my eyes with his.
“You’re not the only one to blame,” he said, his voice shaky with emotion. “I was curious about you long before you put your hand in my shirt that first time.” I waited patiently and quietly for him to continue. When he did, he said, “I had been curious about other guys before, but you were the first one that I really started to think about.” He bit his lip for a second and then said, “Andrew told me he wasn’t sure whether you were straight or not-”
I had tilted my head in curiosity. He regarded me plainly and shrugged saying, “He didn’t accuse you or anything, simply said he wouldn’t be surprised if you were a switch hitter.”
I laughed for a second and said, “Well, he wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t know I tend to bat more on one side than the other.” Josh gave a small smile and nodded, chuckling.
He then said, “It planted a seed. I started to wonder what it would be like to be more than just friends. And then, the more stuff we tried, the more I wanted to keep going.” I waited, trying to breathe evenly, as he continued with, “But part me knew the risk I was taking when I didn’t tell you to take your hand out of my shirt.”
Silence crept in between us and, for the first time in a long time, there was distance there, too. I slowly stood and backed away, leaning against the doorframe, regarding him with sorrow.
He then said, “I could feel myself getting further and further away from my family. Losing my temper quicker, not being as interested in spending time with them, just waiting for the next chance to be here. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t resist the feelings I had for you.”
I sighed and said, “Josh, we don’t have to keep doing what we’ve been doing. We can just be friends again, if that’s what you want.”
He smirked, wiping his eyes, and said, “No, we can’t.” He lowered his head again and said, “At least, not for me. I wouldn’t be able to spend the entire day around you and control myself having you that close. I couldn’t have you within arms reach and not touch you, hold you...kiss you.” This last part made him close his eyes again.
He then stood abruptly and said, “That’s why I can’t stay.” He grabbed his phone off the desk and shoved it into his pocket, anger seemingly pouring out his pores as he used his leg to kick the rolling desk chair away and walked toward the door.
I put my arm out as he went to pass me and wrapped it gently around his side and pulled him closer. He paused in his movement and leaned toward me, wrapped his arm around my waist and wrapping his other around my shoulder. The sides of our heads pressed together and I whispered with desperation, “Can you at least give me a chance to say goodbye?”
We held each other for just a few seconds and then he pulled back slightly and we stared at each other, our faces full of anguish at the sense of both longing and loss. We then leaned in, closing our eyes, and shared our last kiss, a slow and deliberate dance of lips that expressed the fulness of the love we had created.
We then broke the kiss and simply pressed our foreheads together, some part of us wishing we could make this moment last forever.
I asked in a breathless expression, “Do have any idea how much I’m going to miss you?”
I felt him slowly nod his head as he said, “I’m going to miss you, too.”
Just as the silence crept in yet again, I declared with tears streaming down my face, “I love you, Josh.”
“I love you, too.”
With that, he broke our embrace and moved past me, walking purposefully toward the door. My heart began to shatter as I watched him exit the office, climb into his vehicle and slowly pull away, never looking back. As the white truck disappeared beyond my view, tears began streaming even harder down my face and my breaths became rapid and desperate.
I retreated back into office, shutting the lights, the blinds and the door and fell resignedly onto the couch for visitors. I cried loudly, not sparing a thought for the office neighbors or people nearby as I grieved for the sudden void that Josh’s departure had left in my life.
For the next month, I had lost all motivation. My time at work was spent slowly going through the motions and my time at home was no different. Every time I pulled into the office, I hoped to see his truck and every time I was disappointed. Every time my phone alerted me to a new message, my heart leapt at the thought that it could be him, only to drop again when I realized it wasn’t. Everywhere I went, I hoped to see him; I only ended up scanning the crowds for a face that wasn’t there.
Even now, thoughts and memories of him fill my mind on a daily basis and I wonder if I ever cross his mind in the same way. I knew I could never have him, not completely, but I had foolishly hoped that at least part of our lives could be dedicated to us. With him gone, I was left with the realization at how foolish that hope had been.
I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before I can think of him and our times together without the searing pain of grief. In times like these, I am sometimes tempted to imagine what life would be like without that agony, to exist in ignorance of what we might have had. Yet that would be simply the absence of pain caused by his ghost that still haunts me.
Ignorance is not bliss. The moments I shared with him, the wonderful sensation of unbelievable happiness were bliss and they were worth every aguishing moment in the hell that his absence has caused.
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