As the waft of bittersweet autumn whispers in, she wraps her blue shawl around her neck tighter, her cheeks flushing pink. She slid out three delicate fingers from the long sleeve of her coat and tugged the other half of the coat near to her right. She blew a breath into her cupped hands and looked up at the golden leaves.
The trees swayed rhythmically, the soothing noises of the rustling of leaves cradling her. She felt like a small premature baby, so tiny and raw, cupped in the palms of a mother, cradled and rocked by the mother’s see saw movement, lulled by the soft whispers that escaped from her lips and into her breath. She stopped in her tracks and leaned against the stone walls running along the path.
Her fingers ran onto the words etched on the stone, colored by white, dusty chalk. It was recent, fresh and dry from rain. ‘Preston & Sally 4 ever’. She felt her mind flying away from her flesh, memories overwhelming her. She remembered last year, in the boom of golden autumn, the last beautiful day of school. She remembered running out during recess, her arm swinging into Charlie’s, her palm pressed against his. They shared a glance and grinned. Running to a secluded spot under a golden tree, they craved their initials onto the tree. They left school giggling and giddy from being in their love.
The first few days of summer were beautiful. They spent four days lying on their backs, under the shade of a large oak tree by a river that trickled a melody. They sneaked peeps into each other’s eyes and grinning when they got caught. A beautiful summer lay ahead. She remembered thinking about the future. School days were over. Her parents persuaded her to go to college, but she refused. She sat in the swing set in her yard, pushing slowly and thought about their future together. They would live the family dream, husband going to work, wife staying at home and taking care of children. She thrived on this dream every day, secretly longing for a proposal.
But he walked away. He loved each strand of hair in her head, but he walked away. He wanted to be in the army, training until he was ready to go out of the country. He had kissed the knuckles of her hands and left her standing at their favourite spot, tears brimming in her eyes. But she never hated him. She loved him more. She wrote to him everyday, although life wasn’t any fun without him. She told him how the birds built a nest near her window, how the bees buzzed, how she found a job as a waitress in a local restaurant, what she wore that day, how she missed him.
He replied once and a while. She was always delighted. With a single letter that never contained words more than four, her life became brighter, her eyes shining. He always wrote the same thing, ‘I love you’. She was easily pleased and always happy whenever he decided to reply. She knew his love was not measured by the length of words or flowery language, it was his heart. She wrote and mailed a letter everyday, kissing the seal before sending it off into the mail box.
Eight months had passed. Everyday, she waited. But nothing came. She thought he must be busy. She waited for another month to go by. It was then when she received news. He had finished his training six months ago and was sent off to a war torn country. He was killed. That day, she cried so hard that her pillow was damp. Her heart broke and ached. It thrashed against her rib cage, wanting to make the loudest sound in the world, to announce that another broken heart had appeared. But it didn’t make even the slightest whisper. She was so frustrated. She rewrote her love story again and again, imagining life with another man. But her imagination refused to give way. His face appeared in her dreams, in her thoughts, in the river, all around her.
She sighed and rubbed off a single tear that fell down her cheek. She looked up at the faint blue sky. She still refused to say goodbye. There was never a goodbye in the world. It felt useless. No matter how much she runs, he’s there. Is that goodbye? Her destiny is entwined with his. She murmured a few words into the sky. ‘I’m still waiting.’
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