Your voice was as sweet as the songs of spring and your taste was as fiery as the heat of summer.
When the shiver of winter was upon me, I confided in your sweet, sweet warmth and as Autumn approached, we would crunch the autumn leaves under our feet together. Just us two.
Your hands were comfortable around mine, and mine around yours. You would wear my hands as gloves, and I’d stare at you with that look that portrayed my heart and my love for you only, through my eyes.
The cold nights were spent in your arms, and the warm were spent the same but more uncomfortable, trying to overcome the growing heat.
When it got too hot, we would run.
As far as we could.
Months and months would pass, a year even. The smell of Spring time reminded me of your voice. Every bird, every song, every whisper.
I tried to replace you.
But the others never tasted quite as bitter sweet as I was addicted too.
Sure, they were sweet.
But it would never be the same.
I look back now on the years I dreamt of a white wedding, a beautiful family, a well designed and well thought out home, the queen sized bed shared only with the man I was in love with. How ignorant I was. To think that fairy tales might happen. My fairy tale in particular.
I look back on it and I wonder, if it weren’t for the depression and constant need for something new, exciting and different, whether my dream would have become a beautiful reality.
Arthur had over the years lost his hearing to his occupation, and his heart to the most beautiful woman. His wife, Lorna, had been married to him for 54 years before he passed away. Before his graceful, peaceful death, we would spend our Sunday afternoons in their home, eating biscuits and drinking juice while Lorna and Arthur asked us the most casual of questions. They wanted to know everything. How school was, what are we hoping to achieve, what plans we had though out the week… We would tell them about every time we passed a test at school, how many hours of driving we had done and they would be delighted. They would listen to us and admire everything we had achieved as though they were proud just to be around us.
Lorna and Arthur are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Watching them connect was like watching cupid strike them over and over again, with every compliment and every embrace, it was like beauty had taken form in an elderly couple, bursting out and completely filling the whole room every time they lay eyes on each other.
I wish I could tell them that I had once upon a time felt that love for someone else. I wish I could ask them how they managed to wake up and look into the same face every morning and still see the person they loved no matter what had gone on the night before.
Once Arthur passed, I was too afraid to ever ask such questions. Lorna had fallen in a downward spiral while fighting to keep her independence and being shoved onto anti-depressants.
Although, I always wonder what she would say if I dared ask her.
“With great difficulty,” I imagine she would say, giggling at my question. “Everyone has flaws. Every couple has problems. To live a fulfilling and wonderful life with a person that you love, you must learn to see past the flaws and sort out the misunderstandings. Never let the sun set on an argument and make a lot of sacrifices.”
I would watch her tell me of ways in which her and Arthur had managed their wonderful relationship. I would watch her eyes light up with all the thoughts and memories of her husband.
Thats when I would realize that it is possible for two people to be together ‘till death do them part.
But only if it’s meant to be.