Diary of a Resurrection (A Novella) by Amanda Day Read Free Book Online Page B

songs are banned when your heart is broken. What you need is songs
about strength and how good life is when it isn’t graced with the presence of
an absolute wanker. Getting angry made me feel stronger. In anger, I saw hope.
    Inevitably, however, sadness would follow these brief spurts
of spark. In these moments of sadness I went back to the crumpled mess that
checked her phone with hope, and whose heart sank at how empty and cold it
remained. I continued to text you. Not every few days anymore, but perhaps once
a week: I still miss you. I wish you were
next to me. I wish you would just speak to me.
    Of course you continued your hurtful silence. At this point
however, I didn’t cry at your absence anymore. Instead I sighed heavily and
told myself it wasn’t worth the effort anyway. I was so tired; of knowing you,
of loving you, of trying to be without you, that I barely had enough energy to
hope for you. I told myself you weren’t worth it and sometimes I believed
myself, just a tiny jot in my most angry of moments, but it was progress.
    I still loved you, of course I did. I still do. Maybe I
always will. But waking with hope that each day could be a better day was such
an encouraging feeling that it helped me roll out of bed and carry on. Every night
had the promise that tomorrow might be even better. Some mornings I found
myself thinking of something other than you. My first thought went to what I
was going to wear or what I needed to do for college, then I would catch myself
and almost feel guilty for not thinking of you. I had gotten so used to
thinking of only you that any other thoughts seemed like imposters. They
startled me, which just snapped me back to you as always, then I would smile,
because I knew I was getting better. It was slow, but definitely better.
    The day I knew I was returning was the day I looked at my
paints. The bright colours didn’t make me cringe anymore. They didn’t sing to
me quite yet, but they didn’t make me shudder either. I toyed with my drawing
pad and the paint box. I turned it over in my hands and wondered if I were to
paint, what would I choose?
    Then, as if my mind had been reaching out for it all along,
my hands went to a pad of black paper and a white ink pen in the top of my
pencil case. They were the most appropriate. They were going to be the ones to
set my feelings free. No other colours could possibly be right.
    I sat for a while, staring at the empty black pad. I think an
empty page, like a stranger you have just met, has such potential. It could be
anything. You only have to take a chance and make a start to unravel what it
contains. You take the first step, a gamble, and wait to see what happens,
which is what I did. I uncapped the white pen, smoothed the paper, and started
to doodle. Nothing at first; boxes, flowers, houses. Then it turned to words,
big curly words, tightly scrawled angry words. Your face. Your eyes. Your bike.
Your words. I doodled in white on black and I let the simplicity soothe my soul.
    I drew you out of my heart and onto the page.
    It felt like breaking a dam and setting all that built up
pressure free.

The Letter You Should Never Have Sent…
     
    You sent me a letter. It was a fresh
wave of pain exactly when I felt like there might be hope for me after all. I
could have lived without it, to be honest. You felt the need, after all that
time and silence, to tell me your truths. Well thanks for that. Perfect timing.
Just as I’d convinced myself I might make it through without needing to know
where we went wrong, and that perhaps it was best not to know, you ripped open
the clouds and rained on me more than I ever needed.
     
    Dear Mina,
    I’m so sorry. I am sorry I
have treated you like I have. I am sorry I let you down so badly and broke your
heart. Watching you walk away from me that night in the restaurant, crying and
hurt, destroyed a little part of me. I wanted to chase you, I wanted to
explain, but I knew if I did I would not be able to