Serenity in Solitude

The soft blowing of the midsummer wind sends the satin curtains into rhythmic waves. The rustling of leaves outside the window brings to memory a past of bliss and simple joys. The flame of the candle that has just been lit dances to the music of the chimes of hollow tin pipes. The smell of wet grass, reminiscent of long walks after a rain. Dusk is falling. The framed portrait remains unmoved on the mahogany bedside table. The image, wearing the same smile at the doorway many years ago… it seems. Sounds, colors, scents…. still, nothing can fill this void, this emptiness….

 Every afternoon, for a long time, I would sit on the shore, facing the horizon, with my eyes closed, just listening to the waves, imagining you’d be appearing from nowhere and embracing me from behind. I would still feel the warmth of your arms echoing on my skin..the beating of your heart thumping so close to me telling me we’d never be apart…I wouldn’t want to open my eyes again just to see the vast seas that separates us and the heavens that took you away from me…

I’ve dreamt about this before. I woke up crying quietly in the middle of the night. You were right beside me, sleeping like the angel that you’ve always been to me. I put my arms around you and held you tightly, partly wishing you’d wake up just to be sure you were still alive. You stirred from slumber and asked me what was wrong. I said I just dreamt that I lost you. You said it was just a dream, and that you would never be gone. Your words were comforting. I believed you. I should have held on tighter…I shouldn’t have let go…

Now, I float on this raft of nostalgia, never knowing when this would come to an end or when I would reach the edge. I pray for deliverance. I wish for death to arrive. I hope for time to walk backwards. But this is my fate. This is the price I have to pay for adoring you like a deity..for allowing myself to be consumed by my love for you…I can never take you back…I will never be able to see you again…

Murder at Quarter Past Two

I walked into your room, careful not to make any sound. I could smell the musky scent of your body wash mixed with the light perfume of the fabric freshener. Your bathroom door was slightly ajar.

It was past two in the morning. The glow of the lamplights outside your window was creeping inside the room through the vertical slit between the heavy maroon curtains. The suitcase was already open and sitting on the study chair, but the contents were still inside, as if expecting another trip back. Pictures were strewn all over your study table; a glass, almost empty of vodka, stood sentinel to the tracks of moments you were reliving. Your clothes overflow from the hamper; your waste-basket, half-filled with crumpled unfinished letters. Under the unlit bedside lamp, was a necklace I easily recognized, and the missing empty bottle of liquor.

I saw you in bed. Asleep, unshaven, with dark circles around your eyes. Save for the red and white checkered boxers, you were naked. You had a pale and somewhat dry skin. The scars on your chest were still there....and the fresh wounds. You were in deep sleep having been spending long sleepless nights. Your breathing was shallow. The air was heavy.

I went to the left side of your bed and took out the knife I bought specifically for that night. I looked at you for the last time and tried to keep myself from shedding a tear. I held the knife over my head and lunged at the center of your chest. You opened your eyes at that instant and looked straight at me.

You understood.

I closed your eyes with my other hand and took the knife out. I leaned over and whispered, "See you later this morning." 

I walked out as quietly as I entered and shut the door behind me. We'll get through this yet again.