Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Art of Loving Right

To the man who made me feel like I was worth every second of his time with me

Glancing at the bottle of Sula left upon her bedside next to the glass vase of white and pink lilies, she knew her life was far from being empty. She looked to the other side of her bed, and saw that the rumpled sheets definitely were, though. Empty. Just like the clear glass cups on the night stand there. Remnants of last night's toast to happiness lay nestled at the bottom of the cups, almost dried to the surface. The taste of the delicious wine could still be felt on her lips. She imagined they would be stained purple and red now.

She strained her ears to listen for any sounds in the rest of the house. None at all came to her. With a dejected sigh, she let her head fall back to the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

Look at that, the fan's off-centre!

She remembered her drunken surprise from another night which had amused him so much. His chuckling had grown more intense, as she turned to look at him in indignation. He had responded by covering her mouth with his, taking her to a sweet momentary paradise.

Last night, he didn't let her babble a lot. There was no time for that. They both knew it would be the last time ever. There was none to waste. Or so it had felt.

She remembered being nestled in his arms afterwards, not caring that he was still covered with a sheet of sweat. The scent of him mingled with hers was comfort beyond comprehension. His warm embrace made her feel safe like a baby with its mother. She had buried her head in his shoulders, finding that nook reserved for her alone. Not anymore.

Desperately trying to ignore the tears that formed in her eyes, she now got up from her bed and walked away and out of the room. She didn't want to, but her eyes kept scanning for signs that he was still there. The smells from the kitchen were missing this morning. I make the best coffee in the world! She had teased him about that every single time he whisked his coffee and sugar into a smooth paste. She would never have coffee made by another, now. It didn't feel right. Perhaps, even tea, as she recalled another occasion where he had made tea and coffee in succession for twelve of their friends.

Not willing to break tradition, she sipped on a glass of cold water, shivering just a little bit. He would have come to her, hugging her from behind, making sure she never did shiver. There would probably be a few light kisses on the back of her neck too, before he settled to rest against her for a few minutes. She would pull his arms tighter around her, and he would oblige. Today, her thick cardigan felt inadequate for the job.

She looked at the time, and decided that she needed to get out of the house. One more moment spent in here would probably see her break down.

On the other hand, there was not a place she could go to now, she had memories of him in every place she'd been to in this city. With that, she let loose the flow of tears that she had willed herself to not cry.

Don't forget me, that's all I ask of you.

She didn't think she could, for one moment, anyway.