Seven o’clock and the sky is a rich gold from the setting sun with wispy clouds, something straight out of a renaissance painting. Surrounding me are trees of various shades of olive green, maroon, and mustard yellow, with the grass thriving beneath. The vase beside my feet stands out from the organic backdrop, as it is intricately designed to create the impression of a black swan’s elegant neck. I brought a sheepskin blanket to combat the bite in the wind, and to create the illusion of our cozy home. I am holding a bouquet of daffodils on my lap. If I cast my eyes forward I can see the most exquisite lake; a lake so clear and still that it reflects  the sky and the trees encircling it immaculately.

Of course, I knew this was the perfect spot. Our first meeting was at a place similar to this in that it was also immersed in nature. That day started off as any day would for me: get up, brush my hair, water the plants, walk the dog. The local nature reserve was always where my wandering mind would take me, with its untouchable trees and preserved ponds. I don’t know how we found each other, as I rarely meet a soul there, but I am forever grateful that we did. The trees seemed to part for you as you walked though, the flowers would bow their heads, and the sun shone brighter. Our dogs ran off together and left me lost in the endless pools of knowledge and comedy that seemed to pour effortlessly from your mouth. You told me I was like the daffodils in the fields beside us. I asked you to clarify and you told me I was open and just so alive.

Seven twenty-three and the sky is beginning to replace its golden tones with the darkness of nightfall. The clouds are beginning to thicken slightly and the boldly coloured leaves are becoming muted and dull without the glow of the dying sun. The vase deflects the growing shadows created by the streetlamp, allowing it to continue being the center-piece, however the harsh light gives an awful glare upon the porcelain. The blanket no longer feels homely, but a necessity to keep warm after the loss of sun’s heat. The lake has not completely disappeared from view, and thankfully maintained its beautiful reflective nature.

Never have I met anyone as unique yet intrinsically similar to me as you were. When our eyes met, I melted. I was at a loss for words, engulfed in the subject you have chosen to discuss. You were intelligent and kind and I trusted you with my whole being. You could not let me down. How could you, when I knew your motives were always rooted in love and you meant no harm? You were immeasurably good at spreading love and happiness with no effort at all. When the walls were all I could bear to look at, you were there. When I struggled to breathe and all I could taste was my own tears, you were there. You distracted me, waited on me, let me be silent with no judgement. You always knew what I needed. I can never repay you for saving me.

And our wedding. Our wedding was something else. I was in the dream dress, simple and linen, perfect for the warm summer’s evening. Gorgeous yellow, orange, white daffodils covered the walls, a beautiful backdrop for a beautiful day. The smile that was slapped on your face made me glue my lips to yours. Booze, dancing, laughter, all things good. Your mother told me I was a blessing, sent from the Heavens, delighted to call me her daughter-in-law. It was you and me forever now. You and me against the world. I liked the sound of that. We could take on anything. Invincible. Unstoppable. I felt nothing but pure ecstasy that day, a feeling that would carry on throughout our life together.

Seven forty-five and I can see almost nothing. As I lose myself in my thoughts, the world around me becomes alive with the creatures of the night. Moths, dragonflies and other creepy-crawlies accumulate around the near-by lamppost, foxes cry in the distance and owls hoot. The bench beneath is cold and hard, and my back aches. The lake is no longer visible, instead a black rolling abyss, with no end in sight. Clouds have united above my head and the worry of rain dances across the sky. You can’t control the weather. You can’t plan for everything.

I have since learned that no one is invincible. 

I remember replacing the wilted daffodils with a fresh bunch at your bedside table, as I always ensured they were full of life and vibrant. You were in so much pain, as was I, and that is difficult for any relationship, any marriage. You told me to stop bringing flowers there’s no point, they’ll just die. Of course I knew they would die. But it’s about the colour and joy and spark they add to the present moment. Just like you. I knew you were dying when I married you, but you injected so much laughter, comfort, emotion, drive, excitement, chaos, and love into my life that how could I refuse all that? Being your wife, even for a short while, was such a divine blessing and I would have been an idiot to have it any other way. But of course I hated confrontation of any sort, especially with you my love, so I agreed not to bring the golden flowers any longer. The nurse asked me to leave. So I did.

I leave the television on now to combat the bitter bite of silence that poisons the house. No more words of affection dripping from your mouth, or heated arguments, which once caused so much chaos. Never again will I get a telling for dropping a plate, or talking over a film. Domestic sounds – sizzling pans, dice rolling, your laughter – come hand in hand with a loving household. I have lost both.

Nothing could have prepared me for the terrorising agony that comes with losing the one I love. You were my hope, my comfort, my reason for getting up in the mornings. Love is something so precious, so unique and powerful yet so fragile and breakable. Sickness, temptation, cancer, mental illness, money; love can be tainted by so many things. But I will never lose my love for you. I will continue to speak my romantic words to you, hoping you hear. Continue, leaving the hall light on, in case you come home. Continue, forever, to wait for you to call me on your way home from the pub. 

Its eight o’clock now and the sky is a plum speckled with stars and planets. The clouds have been blown away and the leaves are dancing around me in the breeze. I get up from the bench that I had become accustomed to, and for the last time I take in my surroundings. You loved it here; I wish you were here now. I pick up the vase that had been lying at my feet, open it and scatter it into the wind. I lay the gorgeous, vibrant daffodils on the bench behind me, hoping you will see them from heaven, and smile. Goodnight my love. 

 

By SOPHIA BLUM