OSP Version 1

Originally, Our Secret Place was written using past tense verbs. But now, I've changed it to present tense verse. It seems more suiting to sad stories. And so, to keep it as a remembrance, I post the old version here.

I stepped on the soft soil of the path silently, as to not disturb the singing birds. A seemingly endless expanse of leaves and branches arched over me, gaps allowing soft beams of sunlight to fall through.
    I loved the forest best during fall when the sun was setting. Sometimes, at the right place, it seems like King Midas's cursed fingers has touched the leaves, and a bit of the gold had spread down. At other places, it seems like the leaves were made of fire, bathing the ground with a rosy glow.
    But right now, it was spring. It was a green canopy that hung above me, not a canopy of so many brilliant colors. I don't hate green, but the autumn leaves always seemed to be more beautiful to me, even when they fall.
    Falling. Before, I have never realized that you could feel like you were falling. Now, I know what it feels like to fear every second, every second that might bring me lower. My heart makes me a nervous wreck and it's made of the heaviest material possible, bringing me even lower. No one will help me; they can't help me. I'm not sure if the only who can stop my fall will help me.
    My heart feels like it's been wrung so many times. Whenever I think of him, my throat tightens. And now, my grip on my black umbrella loosens and it nearly drops to the ground.
    It was a strange notion to bring an umbrella. It wasn't raining and it wasn't that sunny at all. I brought it because it brought back memories. I could remember when we would go to this forest, and we'll pretend we were fairies. I was a queen who always wore a white dress and had an umbrella while he was my servant who had a strange fondness for hats. Sometimes, it was the other way around.
    I smile sadly. Even now, when I feel like crying because of him, I could still smile. Just because he has changed doesn't mean my memories have. They may be now bittersweet, but they would always be  there, moments when everything seemed to be perfect.
    I guess that only happens when you're a child.  
    With each step, I feel more reluctant to go to our meeting place. I don't know if he has forgotten about our promise. I don't want to hear him say that Valerie is the most important thing in his life. I don't want to listen to his reason for bring Valerie there.
    I'm torn. I don''t want to face him, but the hurt won't start to fade until we talk.
    Dilemma. That word is what suits my predicament best.
    My head was bent towards the ground. Dilemma. I remember a time when he and I was in a quiz bee, and he won because I left out one "m".
    Every single thing in my mind always has to concern him and only him, doesn't it?
    I stray from the path and step under the cover of the trees once I see the tree with a broken heart carved on it.
    A broken heart. How fitting.
    Noise was inevitable. There was the occasional sound of a twig broken by feet and some birds flying away. Up ahead, I could see the trees starting to part.
    I step out into a clearing, a random assortment of flowers poking their heads out of the grass. In the center was the remains of a cut down tree. Coincidentally, it had been shaped into a crude heart.
    I was now here. It's beauty couldn't distract me when the mere sight of a tree can. That was because this was a part of the cause of my pain.
    Being here just sapped my strength. On wobbly legs,I went to sit on the trunk, my fingers fumbling to close the umbrella. Once there, just dropped the umbrella and wrapped my arms around myself.
    I felt so cold. So very cold inside.
    I didn't have any time for self-pity or any more sadness because I sensed his coming. I didn't hear him, but somehow, I just knew he was there.
    And I was right.
    His hands were in his pockets. He stood under the cover of the trees, shadows dappling his fair skin. I couldn't see his eyes properly, and his brown hair nearly matched the brown of the tree trunks'.
    My mother once told me eyes were windows to the soul. A window works two ways, and I could only wish I could see what emotion lied within his,
    I expected myself to feel even colder once I saw him. I wasn't prepared for my strength returning, even if my legs were shaking. But I was in good condition to fight this battle.
    That was what I hoped.
    I don't know how long did it take for him to take a small step. But he did. The wait nearly shattered my confidence.
    His voice was low. "Mia."
    That did it. The fact that he didn't use his nickname for me immediately brought down my wall of courage and Fear started to march in.
    I looked into his eyes. They were as black and as unfeeling as stone. 

 No copying!