When I think about my Rose, I picture her on our wedding day. I will never forget the way her amber eyes glistened through the lacework of her veil like the sun piercing through puffy white clouds. How her thick, ebony hair fell in waves against her frosted gown and was as dauntless as her character and as dominant as the night’s sky. My hands were damp from nervous sweat. My knees were untrustworthy. I gazed into the fire of her eyes through prisms of joyful tears. We kissed and promised to love each other until death. Our lips parted, although they desired to embrace forever. I reached over to a vase that was placed on the altar and came out with a symbol of my love.
“A rose, for my most beautiful Rose. Know that you will always be my life.” I gently kissed her on the cheek and handed her the red flower.
“Forever and always,” She said, and kissed me again, on the lips.
It’s the only kiss I think of since she left me. After four amazing years, she left me. I’ll never be able to tell her I love her again. I know I can’t … and yet I refuse to believe it. I know she'll never answer my call or respond to a letter. She's gone now for good. It breaks my heart to think she is all alone and cold, with no one to hold her hand in the dark, or kiss her goodnight. God, I loved her.
Her leaving has torn a black, ugly hole in my soul that only she was capable of filling. I’m at a loss of purpose; living—surviving—without my Rose has destroyed me. What’s the point? Not a day goes by where I don’t feel sick inside. Thinking about it strangles my heart a little more every day. I can feel the life being wrung out of me like a worn out rag, but I can’t help it. I need to think about it, because if I don’t then that means I’m forgetting about my Rose.
We had something more than chemistry, more than passion and friendship. But how could I explain it, without diminishing the true mystery of our love? We understood each other and accepted the good along with the bad. We loved each other despite our faults, and saw mostly our perfections.
The last time I saw her, she stormed out in anger and slammed the door in my face. That day will forever haunt me. My soul was crushed. Losing her has evaporated my spirit. I wish I could have at least said goodbye. But no, all because of an argument we had and I can’t even remember what it was about. I blame myself for letting her get in that car while being so distraught. I should have known it was a cause for disaster.
The guilt will never go away. Without her I am nothing. She completed me in so many ways, and now I just feel out of place. Without my Rose here, the whole world seems darker. What’s the meaning of living if I can’t have her?
Please, God, I want her back!
So many times have I prayed to God to bring her back to me, but I know it’s too late. Our vows were broken by her death. But I’ll always love her.
I kneel beside the collection of roses I’ve brought every day for the past year. Some pink like her tender lips, some white like her soul, others yellow like her golden eyes that so captivated me, but most are red like her heart that once belonged to me. I can only hope that even after death, I’m still its keeper. Her gravestone says she was an incredible wife, but those words can only scratch the surface of what she meant to me.
I’m so sorry and I love you. I always will. Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow to keep you company.
Bio: Trevor Abbud is a first-time author writing speculative fiction. Developing a taste for literature as a young child, Abbud took a serious interest in writing. His work has been published by Short-Story Me and has placed in the Sixfold Fiction Contest. Working as an at-home writer, Abbud is currently developing a novel and a collection of short stories.
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