She Stole Them All | By: peter Joseph | | Category: Short Story - Despair Bookmark and Share

She Stole Them All

A memory of someone, tall, handsome, built as a Greek god,  and so, so beautiful.

Waking me from within my dreams, telling me that I had lost, that she had won, and that she had succeeded in taking all that I treasured and all that I cared for.

A nightmare, deep within my soul, asking, are you really of the kind who sits and worries about the things that matter most to my lonely soul..

Life, love, mystery, peace of mind,what are these when there is a darkness that envelopes me as I try to breathe without the love that I craved lying there beside me, to nurture me and to help me find rest within the realms of true love again.

Night, as darkness, calling to me as I try hard to remain in my sleep, but, with unsuccessful results.

A thought, fleeting at most, reminding me of a time when I was happy, not as now when my life is torn and twisted, as bits of metal, once tall and proud dwellings in a city now dead, shredded and twisted by the storms of the worlds anxiety as it tore us apart whilst she, in her anger, took all from me..

My sad and lonely life, now ending, as my love. my world, left me with one who was younger, wiser, and now richer  that I ever was.

Not that I really cared for her or her attitude.

She was always material.

A woman, wanting, wanting, wanting, all the time, and always so unhappy if she didn't get.

Now, well, she has it all, everything that I had she took from me, stole from me, and all with the help of the law.

An unfair law that said that, all that was mine, she could take, and now, what of me, what of my life, what of my love?

Now I sleep, crying, waking, sighing, remembering that she took it all, and crying once again as, night after night I try to sleep alone within my empty bed, uncared for, unloved.

My home, who cares, it was only a building created for us to share anyway.

My money, again, why bother about it. I am inventive and I could make more if I wanted to, and probably way more than she now had.

My happiness, well, what price happiness without the love of my life to share it with.

The love of my life, the only one that I ever truly loved, and that is what depresses me so in the darkness of the night.

That is what makes me cry so, tormented by the very hate that drove her on to steal from me the only man that I could ever truly love.

The only man that, as a husband, deprived of a loving life with his wife, had turned to a younger man, so handsome, so very beautiful, so tall and slender, and kindness itself.

A man to share true friendship with, and a man to love as I had loved no other, and she stole him  from me.

She stole my man from me,, and now I am sad, twisted, and bitter.

I hope she rots in hell for stealing my man, but then, what else should I have expected from her, she stole everything else that I had, and the law helped her to do it when she painted me as a depraved debaucher of young men.

My one love,  seven years younger than I at twenty five, and so very, very, beautiful.

Her toy, her plaything, sent by the very devil herself to seduce and destroy me, and she, they,  succeeded.

Yet, still I love, still I care, and still I cry over his loss, for in my sadness I still believe that he knew my suffering, that he too had suffered, and that he too loved me as I loved him.

Yet for all of that, she took him from me, and now I suffer, a sad and lonely man who has no one to love and nothing to live for.

Am I mad?

There is a darkness, deep within my mind, that asks me, are you really of the kind who sits and cries when all else is lost to she who is all evil.

And I cry again as I try to sleep, for in my sadness I know that I will never love again because my life is a nightmare of depression in a world of lost dreams, and she stole them all from me.....!


Peter Joseph

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