Romanov

by Nadine Brandes

So it was decided. As simple as that. Like a surgeon slicing a heart in two. My heart pumped a broken rhythm. Everything was happening too fast. I was about to be left behind. There were too many unknowns.

The bond of our hearts—” “—spans miles, memory, and time,”

Our trunks were packed with belongings and our hearts packed with memories.

the threads of life we were leaving behind? The piles of memories we’d never revisit? The sheen of hope we were abandoning?

We were clinging to the memories—the good ones. The small comforts and victories.

In every prank, in every move of stealth, there are two victories: the false and the true. The first and then the final. The victory of achieving your desired goal, but then the true victory of getting away with it.

Nothing was more exhausting than putting forth kindness and receiving indifference in return.

I wished I could keep my peace the way he did. It was as though he bore no animosity. I tried to be like him, but sometimes I felt as though a small ball of hate lurked in the back corner of my heart—waiting to spring out and consume me.