Forum Thread

The pine-looking trees are a vivid green; their leaves casting a shadow over the forest. Glowing creatures illuminate the darkness with their glistening scales, chitters and chirps are heard all around. In the center of the forest is a clearing, surrounded on three sides by forest and one by hill. Te clearing is speckled with various colored flowers amidst the yellow-green grass.

In a small, weathered house at the end of a quiet street, lived an elderly man named Samuel. His days were filled with solitude, and his only companion was a tattered photograph of his late wife, Clara, who had passed away many years ago. Every morning, Samuel would sit by the window, gazing at the photo, reliving the precious moments they had shared. He remembered the way her laughter had filled their home and how her smile had illuminated even the darkest of days.

One crisp autumn afternoon, as the leaves fell gently outside his window, Samuel received a letter. It was an invitation to a local art exhibition. He had never been much of an art enthusiast, but the invitation bore Clara's name. It turned out that Clara had been an accomplished artist in her youth, and this exhibition was dedicated to her memory. With a heavy heart, Samuel decided to attend. He entered the gallery, and his eyes filled with tears as he beheld the walls adorned with Clara's paintings, each one a masterpiece of color and emotion. He was transported back to the moments when Clara had stood before her easel, her eyes filled with passion, her heart pouring onto the canvas.

As he moved through the exhibition, Samuel met a young artist who had been deeply influenced by Clara's work. The artist spoke of Clara's ability to capture the essence of life in her paintings, the way she could make a simple scene feel like a symphony of emotions. Samuel was moved by the admiration this artist held for his beloved Clara. The exhibition concluded with a special tribute to Clara. Samuel was asked to say a few words, and he stood before the gathered crowd, his voice quivering with emotion. He spoke of Clara's love for art, her kindness, and the depth of their love. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he confessed how much he missed her every day. As he finished his speech, the entire room erupted in applause. Samuel realized that Clara's memory lived on not only in his heart but in the hearts of those who had been touched by her art and her spirit.

When you miss someone, whether a friend or a family member, or even a stranger who you enjoyed your ever short time with, you think about them more than you could ever imagine. It's often in the little things. Moments where you think about how they may react in the scenario you are in. Moments where you find something that reminds you of them. Moments where you realize how empty things feel when you think about them.

For Primrose, this wasn't always the case. She had been fine for many years. She had never felt truly alone for a long time. When she lost connection to the few friends she had after graduation, the numb emptiness began. It wasn't instant, it started slowly. Primrose took notice of the loss when she spent five months without getting a message from her old friends. Primrose took notice of the loss when she went through some things and found an old item, one of a set which had been split to give to a friend. Primrose took notice of the loss when she hopped onto social media and saw how fulfilling her old friends' lives were, without her in their lives.

The feeling of emptiness slowly built over the years. Every moment of reminiscing and longing gathered within Primrose without incident. The feeling built and built and built for ages. Until it finally broke through, on one night. Primrose's sister still had friends. One of which was having an engagement party and would be wed in roughly two years. Primrose's sister was helping with everything, alongside the sisters' parents. Many people were invited, except Primrose herself. She was to stay home the day of the party. Her sister had deliberately said to Primrose's face, "You're not invited." Primrose didn't react, not at first, until the implications hit her square in the heart, while she was all alone.

Two nights before the party, Primrose was laying in bed, the mattress was soft and cradled her gently. Her body was covered in black as night sheets, which would soon match the hole in her heart. In the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep, the pain became too much for her. Primrose's heart broke, and she finally began to weep. She wept for the friends she had lost touch with. She wept for the moments she was trapped all alone. She wept for herself. Why was she left behind? Why was she pushed away and forgotten? Why was she not allowed to be happy? Primrose wept, the black cloth soaking up the salty droplets that flowed down her pale cheeks.

After some time, unmeasured by the weeping woman, her tears finally stopped. Weeping had felt nice. It was a release on her pent up sorrows. As Primrose laid alone, she finally accepted. She accepted that she was alone. She accepted that her friends had their own lives. She accepted that she wasn't as loved as she had been as a little girl. She accepted that life wasn't fair and kind. Primrose finally accepted that she was alone and that she was fine. Even after everything, she was alive. She was moving forward day after day. It didn't matter what others did, all that mattered was her own life. In those moments as the weeping took its toll and lulled her to sleep, Primrose couldn't help but smile.