“Today I am looking back at the years we had, beginning with the instant of me in your arms to the end when you were in mine. To me you were a concrete stone, compelling and passionate in a way no sapphire or ruby could be. Were I to have known each memory lasts longer than it transpires, I would have inscribed in the surface of the walls every second devoted to you. Alas, you revealed so too late: now no label could be put to our time together as sure as I am that it was neither lengthy nor brief. That was what ‘we’ felt like for me; a microscopic eternity.”
He paused to take a breath. Dull, green eyes conveyed the strain of which he had planted upon himself for the past few months, attempting to write a brilliant piece for her. Perhaps he thought this a redemption; a liberation of his guilt for the woman he abandoned to be with the love of his life. This had to be his masterwork, the reason for his success, despite the fact that his previous bestseller had achieved the record for the highest grossing book and – lo behold – it was of his wife. No matter, he intended to compose this in the way he never could for his other books – with memories foregone. Methodically, he picked up the pen.
“You who introduced me to a pristine world and I who spoiled it are a distinct set of creatures, in a realm beyond others.”
He paused again. This time, his shoulders hunched back and shook as he peered at the incoherent sentence. At least to him it made no sense because he considered it cheesy, a silly way of refining the overused, ‘we are of another world’ philosophy most couples seem to fancy. He hastily contemplated whether to scratch it out or build from it but found himself musing over his wife’s opinion instead. He was sure she would have left it as it was, were she the author and had she known how to write, his sweet, immature maiden who could not read a single word in the world. He stopped chuckling, suddenly aware he had wasted almost half an hour on a sentence. No, it won’t do – this one must be impeccable.
“…what was I thinking, the first time I held your hand? Were you smiling as I took my first step towards you? Were you listening when I bawled over my dead friend, Mike? Though blood is thicker than water, my heart is heavier than what helps me think. For this reason alone did I exit from your life, believing I had eluded the ties you bound me with. It was perceivably the finest decision I ever made, until the day I yearned for your presence, your scent, your embraces, and undoubtedly your bountiful smiles. When I returned on your anniversary, I found you weeping with joy-”
He jolted from his seat when his phone bestowed an earsplitting ‘ping’, yet in mere seconds, the entirety of the room became discreet again. Adjusting his ring, he seized the opportunity to proofread through all that he had written so far. His wife could be heard singing faintly in the distance, and he hummed along surreptitiously in the privacy of his room. Initially he had not noticed what song she was singing until he found himself distracted yet again, this time with flashbacks of their wedding day.
“You had been there, were you not, far from your reserved seat, among the youth of the orchestra players performing with your treasured cello? I remember a certain February evening, right after dinner when I asked you, ‘Can I play that cello?’ Your sharp rejection still soundly resonates from within me to this day, even at times when I could not recall your face.”
He reread the last sentence and wondered if this was true. There were wisps of her eyes that came to his mind every now and then, those green, goddess-like eyes that he had gazed into for an entire lifetime – that was, until she passed away. Occasionally he would see miniscule details of resemblance between his wife and her, however much their intelligence differs.
“I am compelled to add your perpetual splendor to every word I write here, though it is impossible to designate a term for you because you are one that does not exist in the thesaurus. You, who once were everything to me, had imparted me with the gift of knowledge, through which I have learned the elations of literature. Thus to you is what this tale would preach and should its quality be less than your worth, I will burn, and along with me will be the woman you despise the most.”
This was the first time he had mentioned his wife, the darling girl, of whom he had been persistent not to include in this piece. Yet his wits had lost focus, centered again on the woman now approaching his workplace, and he had slipped. He will certainly fix it…right after this kiss. Ah, the lady’s provocative physique is now in his arms. What is a man to do?
“…You were a fluorescent light that night. Even among the grey you were white. Kindled by the warmth you provided, I parted with one who I loved for the first and last time to safeguard your features in my heart – a decision I have come to value. Ultimately you did not know, that you were there all along, that I had not hurled you away, like that other man did. From now until never our next encounter awaits, nevertheless I have yet to close this tale.”
He dropped his glasses on the bedside table and stretched. This would be the end. He liked it so. In most cases he would have gone back and completed his loose ends, cautiously enhanced the details of the characters and rallied it up with a pleasant and satisfying ending but this was different. This was a perfect story and to him, perfect stories have no alterations once done. Tomorrow, to the publishing house he would proceed. Afterwards, his wife. She was dozing beside him, oblivious to her husband’s doting, green eyes.
“You are all I have,” he whispers, “now that she has left.”