Her hair was like that of spun gold and her eyes were deep sapphires. She had a disarming smile that could dim the sun at midday and spoke in easy kind tones sweetened with innocent giggles. Sometimes, she would do handstands just because she could.
He was acid cynicism and distrusted nice things. As far as he was concerned, the world was not a nice place and happiness was fleeting. Why he found himself drawn to her puzzled him.
They were a striking couple. She was the ambrosia to his acid. When they first began, he took her to his secret place in the forest for a picnic. It just felt right. She wore a purple sun dress. He meant to kiss her only once that day, but found he couldn't stop. It worked out, because she wouldn't have let him.
He took her horseback riding and she introduced him to her family. The silly and sweet things she would say, things he would revile from if said by someone else, he caught himself smiling silently at. Happiness might be fleeting, but those fleeting moments was something he secretly hoped would last until the stars fell out of the sky.
She was gone so suddenly she never had the chance to tell him about the baby. He never had the chance to say whether or not he would've wanted it or to be excited or terrified. It was unreal, like being jarred awake from a beautiful dream that had been so close to waking it had scents and flavors. To this day the ring he got her still sits in the back of a drawer, the black velvet box that holds it turning gray with dust.
What happened proved to him happiness was fleeting, but there was no comfort in the validation...
He scattered her ashes in his secret place in the forest where they had that picnic. Over the years, there had been others, she'd not have wanted him to adopt a life of hermitage with her gone. None of those others could ever touch her divinity, and he refused to insult her memory by trying. Sometimes, in that secret place, in the right light, he could almost hear her giggle. He could almost see her in that purple sun dress, doing a handstand just because she could.
One wonders, if they are inside or outside the story, if the grief and memories last. Do they lessen over time, do they morph into something else? Are the less good times somehow subjugated, or our memory somehow twist them, so they appear different in our dreams?
ReplyDeleteOne wonders.
I knew someone who said there's no statute of limitation on grief. With ones I have lost I understand the profundity of the statement.
DeleteThis piece came from a dream I had, which was more like something I was watching than dreaming. Just before waking, she was sick somehow. As the words coalesced within the walls of my skull, it was that she passed on and rather quickly. Yet the most vivid image, even to me as a dysfunctional outside observer, was the purple sun dress.
I knew when I started reading, there was going to be a sad ending...
ReplyDeleteBeing flip or caustic I'd say happy endings are for those who lack imagination. However, despite the tragedy, I cannot say it was an overall sad ending, given he can recall a rather happy time so vividly. Reckon it's a matter of philosophical bent.
ReplyDeleteLoved this...enviably loved this.
ReplyDelete