Writings I admire...

There are really not many people I truly admire. Seriously, no offense but my admiring list is a pretty short list. I admire the person who is creative, determined, honest, driven, talented, in tune with emotion, has a strong character, and can be expressive. There are ranges of qualities in the people that have in one way or another influenced my life.
There are just some people that leave a print behind. So I went around and looked at lives in my life and I found the person I could try to be complete with, and yes...that is my husband.
Here is a story from a writer that I admire. This is a sad story that captured me seven years ago. Every time I read it, it causes the same emotion. This is a strong piece of work. I hope one day I can write as fearless as him. In the meantime....here is one of his works.

Enjoy.
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A Sometimes Beautiful Thing
by Alex L. Mauldin

I've always loved you.
Always.
Even when I was youngest, I can remember wanting to play with you. But you didn't live near me, so we couldn't. I didn't know where you lived, but I knew that if you could, you'd play with me. We'd play catch, or hide and seek, or whatever it was you wanted to play. I wanted to play your games. I wanted you to teach me how to play with you.
So I played by myself. But you were there with me. I pretended that you were with me. I never wanted to play with the other kids on my block. I had you.
Mom always told me to go outside and play with the boys next-door. She couldn't understand why I didn't want to play in Little League or join the Boy Scouts. She did not understand that I was with you. I didn't need anyone else.
I wouldn't call it love at that point, though. I did not know what love was. I just wanted to be with you very badly. I didn't have a name for that feeling.
Later when the other boys at school started to pay more attention to girls, I didn't feel so bad. They were beginning to understand what I'd been feeling for years. They needed a woman. And the girls needed a man. They started to match up and some of them are still together today. Love is so beautiful when it lasts.
I say I didn't feel bad, but that was only at the beginning. Later they would ask me if I had a girl. I'd say yes, and of course they would want to know who. I couldn't tell them. I had to make up some story about meeting you when I was at my grandparents' place for summer vacation. A long-distance thing. Some of the guys thought that was cool. Others called me a liar. I tried not to care. I tried not to worry.
At night I would lie in bed and think about you. I wondered what you had done that day. Did you like your school? What was your best subject? I always pretended that you'd be good at English. I pictured you writing me long letters about how much you loved me. You'd sign them with hugs and kisses.
I wonder sometimes if waiting was hard for you. I wondered if maybe you had a boyfriend. I knew you wouldn't be serious about him. You'd leave him the moment we could be together. I'd get a little jealous thinking about it, though. I wanted to be the first to touch you if I could. The first to kiss you and hold your hand. You would be my first. I didn't want anyone else.
During college I noticed that there were fewer and fewer people still by themselves. Everyone was pairing up. Some of the girls in my classes were wearing engagement rings. They were proud of their rings and would show them to everyone around them. One day I went to a jewelry store at the mall and looked at rings. I picked out a nice one for you. It was gold, with a small diamond in a silver setting. I didn't know what your ring size was, so I bought one that fit my smallest finger. I figured we could get it fixed later. I carried that ring with me all the time. I wanted to be able to give it to you as soon as we were together.
After that day I thought about your hands a lot. I pictured myself holding them and looking at the tiny wrinkles in the palms. I tried to imagine how small your hands might be. How fragile they might be. In my dreams you would touch my face with your tiny fingers. The fingertips would touch my lips and I would kiss them.
I worked hard in college. I studied constantly because I wanted to get a good job when I graduated. I didn't want our lives to suffer because I couldn't provide for us. After college I got a well-paying job with an insurance company. After saving for two years I put a down payment on a house. A nice two-bedroom house. It had a large kitchen and a great bedroom for the two of us. I just knew you would love it. When I moved into the house, I tried not to buy too much furniture. I didn't want to pick anything you wouldn't like later. Just the basics.
Sometimes I would sit on the threshold of the front door. I would stare down the street and watch every car that passed by. One day you might be in one of those cars. I wanted that to happen so much.
The bed was too big for just one person. I couldn't make myself stretch out or sleep in the middle. I stayed on my side and pretended that you were with me. Some nights I could almost hear you breathing. I would roll on my side and want to say your name, but I didn't know what it was. I would just call you "Love."
"Love?"
You would smile at me.
"Are you happy with me? Are you glad you waited for me?"
You wouldn't answer. You'd just reach over and touch my lips and feel my face. I could feel your hands on my face. You could feel my tears.
"I love you so much."
The years went by. I tried to imagine what you were doing. I knew you were out there. I knew the person who's meant for me must be out there somewhere. It would just be a matter of waiting. I knew I could wait forever for you if I had to. I loved you.
When my Mom died I was left to handle all the arrangements myself. It had just been her and I, and we'd grown apart over the last twenty some-odd years. One Christmas she asked me when I was going to bring home a girl. I couldn't say anything to answer that. I couldn't even look her in the eyes the rest of the night. I wanted badly for you to meet her. She would be so proud of me. So proud that her son had such a wonderful woman. It would be perfect.
But as I watched her being lowered into the grave, I didn't have anyone standing with me. I didn't have anyone to show my Mom. I was alone.
That night I cried. I cried because I didn't have you with me to hold me and tell me everything was alright. I didn't have a hand to hold or lips to kiss. Nothing. I'd never had that and perhaps never would.
Each morning I looked at myself in the mirror. The wrinkles around my eyes were getting deeper. My hair had thinned and receded. I hoped you would love me. I hoped you could still look at my face and smile.
"I want to see you smile."
I can't. Everything in me hurts.
"If you don't smile for me I'm going to have to turn off the TV and turn out the lights," the nurse warns. I hate her. She is always trying to make me do silly things like smile or laugh. She has never felt pain in her life.
Leave me alone.
"Ok, there goes the TV. Goodnight, sir." She turns off the lights and shuts the door behind her. My small bedroom disappears into the dark. I can hear her footsteps as she walks down the hall. The footsteps fade, and then all I can hear is the distant echo of my heart. A tear slowly finds its way to my pillowcase and dies. My world becomes quiet.
I'm alone.
It's dark and I'm alone.
Why didn't you ever come, Love?
I waited for you.
I waited for you.
Copyright © 1997 Alex L. Mauldin