Monologue (July 14th)

 Monologue: "July 14th"

July 14th.

It used to be just another date on the calendar, a day like any other. If you had asked me before, I might have said my favorite day was somewhere in late January, or maybe early February back before covid hit. But now, now it’s July 14th. That’s the day that lingers in my mind, the day that whispers to me when I’m alone.

I don’t have to remember it. I could let it go, let it slip away into the blur of passing time. But somehow, I don’t. I can’t. I imagine—no, I know—what it’s like to move mountains for someone, to tear down every obstacle just to see the one beyond the veil. I’ve written letters, so many letters, to a person who could have been. But none of that matters now.

Because she prays.

And how do I compete with that? How do I compete with a divine hand guiding her steps, leading her where He says she should go? What if I’m not on that path? What if the words I write, the ones meant for her, never reach her heart?

Someone once asked me if I ever sent those letters. They saw the folder—"July 14th"—and they knew.

I did. Not in the way they were written, not with the weight of every word exactly as I had felt it. But I sent them in other ways. In the stories I craft, in the lines between the lines, in the spaces where my heart still hides. If you look closely, you’ll find her there. In my words. In my dreams. In the quiet corners of my mind where she still exists.

Even now, I wonder. Has she eaten today? Is she okay? What is she up to? What does she pray about? What books does she lose herself in? These things should not concern me, and yet, how can they not?

Because all I have left are memories of what we could be, and you ask me why july 14th of all days, well, i guess i like somethings to myself chief.