Love Story in the Morning

(Ray Kachatorian / Getty)

I keep having dreams and images in my head, of two lovers. I have written romance before but I usually just keep it in my head. Lately, those images have been so strong that I find it hard to keep them at bay, and why should I?

This morning I woke up with a beautiful story in my mind, albeit somewhat cliched. (It reminds me of the film All Good Things but does not end in murder. Spoiler much?) I won’t write down the whole thing because it will take me ages. After all, in my mind, it just took me minutes to record it.

Basically, a boy and a girl fell in love, but she had dark demons lurking beneath the surface and soon enough, those demons were too strong for either one to handle. He couldn’t fix her, she couldn’t get better, so one day she tried to jump into death. He got there just in time to save her from herself, and finally, he had no choice but to find her a safe haven: the asylum called Bleechthorne. She stayed there for years and he finally lost hope to see her again, as the officials would only let him write letters, which she never answered.

Seven years later, they meet on the street. Ignoring their friends’ pleas to go elsewhere, the ex-lovers make plans to go somewhere and talk. A few strained words and a pint of lager later, he breaks the ice by drawing her in closer for a dance. ‘Am I allowed to say I missed you?’ he whispers.

‘Am I allowed to say I miss you too?’ she asks, tears rising to her eyes. Meanwhile, I Write Sins not Tragedies by Panic! At the Disco is playing in the background.

He laughs gently and strokes the side of her face. ‘You’re prettier than I remember.’ (…can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words…)

She smiles. ‘You’re just as handsome.’ (…closing a God damn door no…)

His face is now too close to hers. ‘You’re just as sexy.’ (…rationality…)

‘I love you as much.’ (...pour the champagne, pour the champagne...)

(insert kiss here)

Oh, sorry. Did I spoil the moment? Oh well, these things happen. Just when I was witnessing this tender moment, I heard my housemate singing Kum ba yah downstairs, and believe you me, you don’t want to hear that.

So anyway, rewinding after the sexy parts, wink wink, I see them cuddled in bed, or wait… am I the one who’s cuddled against this man in this dayream? Nah…


The Reason by Hoobastank is playing now. (...I'm not a perfect person...)

(cues girl to speak) ‘So what have you been doing all those years?’

(insert whatever man’s been doing here) ‘What have you been doing this past year?’ (she’s been out of the asylum since last spring)

She looks up at him, smiling. ‘I’ve been painting.’ He’d never seen her eyes sparkle so.


(...I found a reason for me...)

‘Really?’ His surpise is as lovely as breakfast in bed. ‘What do you paint?’

‘Scenery. Sometimes people. And I’m good at it too… you know, when I’m not suicidal.’

A shadow passes through his face. She apologizes for the bad joke. He says it’s okay, and they stay silent for a while.

(...to change who I used to be...) (cue girl's heartfelt speech here)

‘This one time I woke up in the middle of the night with a picture in my mind’s eye. It was blurry at first but I tried to hold it as I rushed downstairs to find my way to the canvas. Brush poised in hand, I fervently started to draw without thinking. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or it was real but the brush knew the way, so I trusted it and kept drawing until it was finished. Then I must have fallen asleep because I woke up in the morning with the canvas looming over me and the brush practically sticking from my face.’

(...a reason to start over new...)

‘I looked up and there it was – the most beautiful painting in the world. It immediately brought tears to my eyes.’

‘What was it?’ he asks, entranced.

She looks at him as if seeing her painting again, as if she’d known all this time she’d find her way back into his arms.

‘It was you.’ (...and the reason is you...)

The End.

Aaaagghhhh. Sappy much? I can practically grab a fork and extract my left eye with it. I’m thinking I can use it as an 8-ball after that because I never seem to find one that gives the right answers. Anyway, so what did you think?

Thing is, I keep having those flashes and they’re beautiful but when it happens in the morning, I have to lie down in bed an extra hour just to see how the story unfolds. Now that’s a waste of time… Or is it? You decide.