A few nights ago, I was left at the imaginary altar. My bedroom, the church filled with all of our imaginary family and friends joined together as imaginary guests. My imaginary groom long gone, bags packed as you ran out the door with only the excuse of 'this just isn't working out anymore,' to tide me over. My not-so-imaginary tears did nothing to make you stay. All that you left behind was me standing alone to explain to everyone just why you weren't going to make it to the imaginary wedding.
Here’s a story I started writing in 2021 based on an extremely vivid nightmare I once had. The original version was only as long as the first part of this rewrite, and absolutely everything has been changed. This is my first attempt at ungraded creative writing in at least a decade. Go easy on me. Part 1 The rays of morning light filtered through her curtains, casting a soft glow across the bed, offering a gentle nudge towards wakefulness. Savitri blinked open her eyes, greeted by the soft chaos of her bedroom — books piled high on the nightstand, a sweater draped over a chair from the night before, and her journal lying open, a silent witness to the thoughts that often kept her company in the quiet hours. She reached for the journal, her fingers tracing the worn edges with a familiarity that felt like home. Flipping to the last entry, she expected to find solace in her own words, a breadcrumb trail of yesterday’s thoughts. Instead, she found herself staring at a stranger’s diary. The
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