Christening The House

Gone...

Swallowing against the ever-present lump in my throat, I turn away from the window. Across the room, our wedding picture sits on its stand, the dust on its beautiful frame an accusation of the neglect. The empty space next to it a testament to the uncontrollable madness that consumed the first few days you were gone. There were no matching wedding bands in the glass bowl infront of it, since the night you left.

My happiness walked out the door right behind you. I guess it’s impossible to find even a small smile in a pit of emptiness. Looking away from the wonderful memory of our past, I stand and walk to the bedroom, our bedroom. Stepping into the closet, my hand drags across your clothes, most of them. They mingle in with mine, blending in a way we will never be able to blend again. Your scent still permeates the confined space, if I close my eyes, it’s as if you were standing right next to me. My heart clenches, the pain enveloping me once again.

It’s hard to deal with the pain of losing you, everywhere I go.

But I am doing It.

It’s hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and realise that I am alone.

Closing the door behind me, I wandered back into our desolate room. Here, unlike the rest of the house, where I had tried to erase you from my life, I keep constant reminders of what we had been. Pictures dot every surface, along with little trinkets that mean nothing to anyone, save you and I. The little jar of brightly colored beach glass, the varying shades of green so similar to the scenery in the picture that stood next to it. Picture of us, sitting on the grass, our hands entwined, your body leaning into mine. The piece of wood you wrote your first confession, the day you offered me everything.

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“Kong !! Look at this !!”

Your voice flowed over the ocean waves, carried on the sea breeze that moved the tall grasses where I sat. Plopping down next to me on the blanket you had stretched out on the sand, you laid the sun-bleached, natural sculpture in my hand.

“Isn’t it perfect ?? It reminds me of you.”

I had laughed at you at the time, not understanding then how much you knew the real me.

“How is it like me ?? It’s just a piece of wood that’s been beaten up by Mother Nature”

I scoffed, turning it over in my hands, drawn to admire its intricate, accidental symmetry.

Then I gasped when I saw the beautiful crafting of those magical words.

You settled your head in my lap, looking up at me with those perceptive eyes that saw so much more than I had ever wanted you to.

“Just like you, it’s been to hell and back, and come out more beautiful because of it”

Your hand touched my cheek, those long slender fingers moving to curl around my neck drawing my lips down to yours.

That day had been the beginning of the beautiful journey. Shaking my head, I try to push the memory of that day away, but its persistence can’t be denied. Falling to the floor, I clutch the wood to my chest, letting the memory engulf me, running through my mind in a loop.

Holding you on the beach that day, I gave in to an urgency I had never felt before. Our kisses moved quickly from tentative to seeking, my tongue delving deep into your mouth, stroking across your tongue, my fingers tangled in the messy strands of your hair. Pushing my hips against you, I poured every bit of emotion I had ever felt into that kiss, trying to show you what I couldn’t say. You reciprocated, your fingers digging into my hips, pulling me closer, my body aching for more. Our chests heaved, struggling for air when you released my mouth, my lips swollen from the force of your mouth on mine. You stroked a hand down my cheek, smoothing out the lines that a dissolute life had etched around my eyes, before tracing your thumb across my bottom lip.