In life
‘Sweetheart, I heard from your friend that your ex has passed. I just got the news,’ I said, moving closer to him. I drew near, my heart heavy with sorrow. My hand soothed his back, tangled in his hair, as I wiped away his tears. Finally, he turned to me, and in a tender embrace, I held him.
‘I found this in my desk,’ he whispered, a melancholy smile gracing his lips. ‘I kept her picture all this time.’
‘She was lovely,’ I replied, my voice hushed.
His finger traced the image, a girl of divine beauty. The girl in the picture had long, dark hair that framed her face, which seemed to glow. She wore a white dress, and maroon flats completed her ensemble. The smile etched upon her lips was radiant and carefree, with her hair tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were large and expressive, seeming to hold a depth that pierced through time. Her nose was delicately pointed, and her ears were small.
She was stunning.
Yet, a strange familiarity tugged at my heart. She bore a striking resemblance to me. It was as if a mirror had been held to my soul, reflecting a part of myself that had once existed.
“Will you accompany me?” he asked, his eyes filled with longing. “Yes, I’ll be there with you to pay your respects,” I replied, forcing a smile. I was grateful he still held his past dear. Oh, to be loved, to be remembered even after all these years. I wish he could love me as deeply.
We arrived at the house of mourning. The place was crowded, a testament to the depth of her love. The music playing in the room was very soft. What was loud was the sound of crying from her loved ones. We moved closer to the coffin in the middle of the room. A wreath of flowers in the shape of a cross surrounded her. There she lay, her beauty undiminished in death, her face serene. It seemed she had slipped away peacefully.
But suddenly, a strange heat coursed through my veins, a consuming fire of jealousy ignited in my soul. ‘SHE IS DEAD!’, I screamed in my mind.
My lover moved closer to her. His finger traced the contours of her face, lingering on her hair. He murmured, ‘Even in death, you remain beautiful. You never failed to love me, and I have been constant. See, I came, didn’t I?’.
I just watched them be intimate until they will eventually be separated by 6 feet of soil. I felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest and a thousand daggers pierced my soul. The world around me faded into a blur of pain.
‘SHE IS DEAD!’ echoed in my mind again. In this house of mourning, I was alone in my torment. I was being devoured by the living, by my own thoughts. ‘Why would I be jealous of a dead body?’, I whispered.
‘Why does my love go unacknowledged, while hers is cherished? I look exactly like her. But, I’m alive! I’M STILL ALIVE! My eyes can still see you, my ears still hear the echo of your voice. Yet, intimacy remains a stranger to my touch. What have I done to be condemned to this solitude? Why am I here?’ I thought, wishing I could shout these words at him. My throat hurts, but I have to be strong for the love of my life.
‘Well, let us return,’ he said. ‘I will make you a hot cup of tea once we’re home’, I replied. ‘Thank you, Love’, he said with a smile.
Mercifully, a piece of me perished alongside the dead girl that day. Perhaps, he will now cherish me a little more.
