A humble attempt at flash fiction.
Honest critique most welcome!
Dear Diary, no, that sounded too childish.
Dear God, no, definitely not. This one was too Judy Blume.
Dear Friend. Yes, this one sounded right.
Her pen dashed across the page, filling it with words, feelings, emotions.
Everything she’d kept bottled inside for so long.
She felt good at finally being able to tell someone.
Even if this source was as much a secret as Damian.
She inhaled deeply.
Why hadn’t she met him first?
Wait. She had.
Only at the time, he didn’t have the courage to meet her in person.
She continued to pen her thoughts.
I have a secret; a secret love I’ve never met.
She had only been acting on a dare when she sent him the first message.
His profile was perfect.
Tall, foreign, and handsome.
He was witty, intelligent, knowledgeable.
His line of work was exciting, daring, and dangerous.
Everything Wesley wasn’t.
In the beginning, she had pondered if any of it were true.
But after a few weeks, she stopped caring.
The anonymity of the Web allowed people to turn themselves into super heroes, and at this point, it didn’t matter.
She was lonely.
Damian seemed the perfect gentleman.
And he listened
He really listened.
In a short time, she had managed to reveal more to Damian, than she had ever told anyone else.
He knew about her first crush, her first kiss, her first love.
He knew about her family’s dysfunctional habits, her mother’s need to control her, and how her parakeet kept her awake at night.
He knew how long her hair was, how many cups of coffee she drank, and how she hated to be called Lizzie.
But most of all, he knew of her feelings of entrapment; of how she awakened every day wondering if this was all there was to life.
Yet there was something Damian didn’t know.
He didn’t know how lonely she really felt.
He didn’t know he was the bright spot in her day; that his letters gave her hope.
Hope that life wasn’t as bad as it seemed; hope that perhaps she wasn’t destined to be lonely forever.
Her sister had accused her of having an affair; an “emotional affair,” she’d called it.
But she had refused to listen.
It wasn’t true.
She wasn’t really having an affair, or was she?
Perhaps this is what poets called an affair of the heart.
Because Damian surely was in her heart.
He was part of her alternate reality.
Thinking about him was what got her through most days.
Yet she knew she would never act on her feelings.
Wesley was a good man, even if he was boring, detached, and self-centered.
He had married her twelve years before, given her a new home, introduced her as his wife.
It was a shame that this sense of pride had lasted so little; that he’d put her on a shelf with the rest of his collectibles.
It was his fault that she had felt the need to reach out to Damian.
Wesley had pushed her out of his life with his detachment; with his apathy.
But she was past caring.
She knew he would never change and she had made peace with it.
She had accepted that he wasn’t a resource, emotional or otherwise.
Life had forced her to understand that you don’t always get what you want.
She smiled wistfully and carefully laid the pen on the desk.
Yes, life wasn’t fair.
That’s why you had to cheat and do whatever was necessary to make your circumstances better.
You had to chase after joy until you were breathless.
You had to cling to moments of love and laughter as if your life depended on it.
You had to have the courage to look at destiny in the eye and say, screw you.
She picked up the pen, took a deep breath, and exhaled.
I have a secret. A secret lover I have yet to meet.