Until the Silence Came

She loved deeply, endured quietly, and wrote the truth no one else could see.

Friday, April 11th, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

It’s been a while. Feels strange to be writing in you again, but I need this. I have no one else to talk to, and putting my thoughts down might help quiet the noise in my head.

I fell in love with a girl, Arnie. Not just any girl—the girl. The one who always felt just out of reach. Then one day, she walked into the coffee shop and introduced herself like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just changed everything.

Sorry, have to stop. I think I hear the front door opening.

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Monday, April 14th, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

Long weekend.

She came back. We had a fight last week—ugly stuff. She stormed out, said she was never coming back. But she did. Friday night. Crying at the door, apologizing for throwing the vase, for the cut on my forehead. No stitches, thank God.

She said she’s better now. Said she’s in control.

I wanted to tell her off. I needed to. But one look into those teary green eyes, and I was done. Powerless.

She’s like a drug, Arnie.

How do I quit someone like that?

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Saturday, April 19th, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

Today started great—until it didn’t.

We went to the music festival. She looked radiant in her summer dress. I wore my usual—jeans and a tee. She joked I looked like a hobo. I laughed it off, but it stung a little. She still doesn’t get me.

Still, the crowd was amazing. A few drunk idiots mocked us when Lisa and I kissed. I’ve heard it all before, but it still hurts, you know?

Lisa didn’t take it quietly. She let them have it—then kissed me again, full-on. You should’ve seen their faces.

In that moment, I loved her more than ever.

But on the drive home, it all unraveled. She said I wasn’t assertive enough. That she wished I was more of a “real man.”

I snapped. Told her if that’s what she wanted, she should’ve dated one. I apologized—for being the same sex—dripping with sarcasm.

She got upset. Of course she did.

She made me drop her off at a friend’s.

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Friday, May 2nd, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

It’s getting harder to keep up the lies.

At work, we’re not allowed to wear long sleeves, but I’ve been doing it anyway. My arms are covered in bruises. I told my boss I have some rare condition that makes me bruise easily.

I don’t think he believes me.

He warned that if he sees me with another fresh bandage, he’ll call the police himself.

He assumes it’s my “boyfriend.” Ironic, right?

The truth is worse.

Lisa’s not a bodybuilder, but she’s strong. Too strong. She doesn’t mean to hurt me, she says. But a shove here, a slap there—it adds up.

That’s all, really.

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Wednesday, May 28th, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

Sorry for the silence.

Things have been moving so fast.

It started with Lisa taking more of those little white pills. She said they were for her back pain, for headaches. I didn’t question it. Maybe I should’ve.

Finding her collapsed on the living room floor, pills scattered everywhere—I thought she was gone.

That night at the hospital was agony.

She made it. But she wasn’t the same.

They think it was an aneurysm. She started forgetting things. Sometimes, she didn’t even recognize me.

Still, I promised I’d take care of her. I meant it, too.

No matter what.

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Thursday, June 12th, 20xx

Hi, Arnie.

The funeral was small.

A few co-workers. One distant cousin. Her parents didn’t come. I guess they still never forgave her for loving me.

I gave the only eulogy.

I spoke about the good Lisa—the one who laughed at my stupid jokes, who showed me magic in the mundane.

I didn’t talk about the fights. The bruises. The scars that won’t fade. I left out the rage, the regret.

I chose to remember the gentle words, not the cruel ones.

It was the least I could do.

Now the apartment feels colder. The silence is louder.

But maybe… maybe I can get used to it.

Maybe I can start again.

Someday.






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Word Count: 704
Prompt: write a story or poem structured as this sort of epistolary work. You can do it as diary entries (like Anne Frank's diary), or letters, or intra-office memos, etc. And, to make sure that you don't just write out a "normal" scene in one big lump, your work must contain at least six entries (i.e. six letters, memos, etc).
Written For: "The Writer's Cramp"