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Like writing in a book

everything in my life...

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Title: Lover
Prompt: Lover
For: [info]brigits_flame 
Rating: PG
Genre: Fiction; short story
Word Count: 817
Warnings: None
A/N: Unbetaed, it is bound to have errors!

Emily dreamt when she was younger about falling in love with a handsome gentleman named Edward Johns; who had the most crooked smile but beautiful heart. The dreams were repetitive and began to get deeper each week but they managed to make her smile.
She was never a girl to have alot of friends so she decided nine years ago that she would be rid of her 'friends', they had managed to doubt her every path.
Only 28 years old she keeps herself to herself and spends most of her days selling handmade gifts online and through small boutiques around England.

Her sketchbook was her most precious object, she would draw for hours on end and she always focused on what she knew, no fantasy and no so called 'bollocks'. People could relate to her pictures in one way or more and that was the way Emily liked it.
She dreamt of broken china, tea stained paper, red lipstick marks, crooked smiles and being indoors as she rain pelts down outside against the window.

Emily eases herself upon the dusky pink frame of her bicycle and as she begins to lower herself onto the seat the cold spreads to her thighs which sends a shiver down her spine. Her hair is styled in a messy pony tail and her eyes are painted smokey black. As she looks down into her basket she smiles whilst taking a glance at her daily essentials which included her favourite trilby hat, lipstick, a sketchbook and some pencils.
It is around 4pm and the sun is still high in the sky on this beautiful spring day, the roads are reflecting heat waves in the distance, thus managing to phase everything else out behind it. Emily squints her eyes to see what is in the distance but unable to, she carries on peddling. Her floral skirt flows endlessly in the air and the big gold buttons on her knitted cardigan clapped together with every movement.
Emily manages to nearly lose track of her bicycle at every corner but she still notices the true beauty of nature; the patterns of the rich green fields contrasted alongside the old golden ones that are painted with circular hay bales. The sun shines down on the nearby lake creating beautiful reflections and patterns for its admirers, and the horses were trotting around their paddocks with their tails risen high and their necks arched, following one another as though they were dancing.
Emily comes to a sudden halt and takes in a deep breathe. She closes her eyes and titls her head towards the sun then lets out a relieved sigh.
She places her bicycle against an old brick wall and begins to pick some flowers from the nearby garden, she only takes a couple because she knows that Mrs Archer wouldn’t be too happy if anymore were taken, she places the flowers in the front basket and places her dainty legs over the seat and continues to pedal.
The road looks bigger this week, the grass greener and the flowers richer in colour and the wind far more powerful than usual.
As Emily reaches the cast iron doors that enclose the graveyard, she dismounts her bicycle and wheels it to the direction of Edwards gravestone. Emily cracks a smile and continued to walk towards him. “Edward you do make me laugh sometimes” she then begins to whisper the lyrics of her favourite song by Imelda May;

“we’re looking at the same moon
though we’re miles apart
we’re wishing on the same star
when you’re deep in my heart”

The sun begins to set and the birds are silent. The wind began to calm and the hairs on Emily’s arms begin to stick up on end. She replaces the old flowers on the gravestone with the new from Mrs Archers garden; they were smelling lovely.

She blows Edward a gentle kiss and makes her way towards the nearby cafe where she picks up yesterdays paper that reads the 2nd April 2010. Emily raises her eyebrows in confusion as she continues to read. She runs back to Edwards gravestone with the paper clenched in her hand and her eyes flick back and forth from the stone to the paper checking the dates. On Edwards stone it reads “In the memory of Edward Johns who died 24th May 1821, aged 23” The paper drops to the ground and she falls to her knees.
“This can’t be you” she repeats over and over again from her lips as tears fall silently from her face.