Creative Writing

I once wrote a short story I entitled "Regret." It was the story of the very different recollections of an old man and an old woman who once had been lovers. Their illicit relationship had lasted for years, but time and distance finally brought it to an end.

The woman's life after the relationship ended was built on a new foundation, but the man could not get past its demise. He let his life be consumed by memories of what he believed to be a relationship that was destined to be, but that, in his mind, had tragically ended.

The woman's recollections of the relationship were simply that: recollections. The man, though, had a collection of regrets that defined his memories. He was bitter about the end of the relationship and, though it had occurred fifty years earlier, his pain was as raw as the day it ended. Every moment of his life that followed, what he believed was the loss of his one true love was measured against the euphoria he experienced while he was in the relationship.

What possessed me to write that short story is beyond me now. But I recall writing it and I recall giving a great deal of thought to how the two characters felt and how their lives unfolded in completely different ways. I remember feeling sorry for the old man I created.

I have thought about that story many times in the years since I wrote it. Now, I think it probably was not well-written. The characters were probably rather two-dimensional. If I could find a copy of it, I would try to rewrite it, pouring into it what I've learned about life in the intervening years. As I recall the story, as I wrote it, there was little more to it than a description of divergent emotions and how those emotions drove different lives. There was no lesson.

Maybe the characters would be more real. Maybe their stories would convey a lesson.