How Would You Speak of Love When Language Dies? (Volume I)

III. Of those that speak of grief and perseverance

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For the love that has no place to go.

For the grief that thrives in love.

"Baby, don't cry, we'll be fine. You're the one thing I swear I can't outgrow."
— NIKI on her song,
OCEAN & ENGINES

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Entry III.
THE STORY OF ABBERIE MAIDEN

I love my husband on most days. On the days I watch him sit on the couch and watch his favorite episode of Suits on Season Five. On the days I watch him find himself on the carpet the next morning after he tossed his coat on the coffee table last night, read the documents on the floor, and dozed off at seven in the evening. On the hours I watch him spend his day making morning coffees and omelette breakfasts for the both of us even if that doesn't really work that day. On the hours I watch him flash a smile at me and say I love you before leaving the house.

And on those days I'm left at home, all I can think about is love. Even if for the past two years, all I can ever see is the four corners of this house at Abbie Street. And sometimes, love just overfills our home that it does reek of loneliness. Sometimes, love just longs for time to pass by quickly. You know, love will always grapple with longing like it's his long-lost twin. And in those days where loneliness envelopes the silence of home, I sit there and think of how much I love him so that time will pass by in a split second.

On most days, I fear that's all what I've become in my steadfast existence—and in the fleeting moments where he remembers the memory of me whenever they see me at home. I fear that my love for him has imprinted a mark on my soul and left it here that's why I can't seem to walk away. But to be remembered as a woman of love is nothing but a legacy to leave in the world.

The thing is, I know nothing but love. I wonder if there's still love in the next life. I hope I'd be reincarnated as a wife and a mother too. It's such a shame that I have so much love left inside of me to give. I hope my son can carry it with him. That way, I can finally walk away knowing I've used up all of what's growing inside of me.

It's seed, sort of. Maybe. I've never really known what love looks like. But from what I dearly believe, as long as it lives in me, it thrives. It grows a branch, blossoms a a petal or two, and sways along the wind everywhere I go unless the it's completely taken out of me. Tragically beautiful thing.

I love my husband on most days. And of the remaining days that are not part of it, I just sit there and fear that I didn't love him enough because it's still with me until now.

We were once of the same age. And I thought once he started getting a year older than me, it'll walk away from me and wrap its roots around his fingers. But it didn't. He's two years older than me now.

So tonight I watch him again. On the couch. In the kitchen. In the dining room he often eats alone at but still pulls out a chair for me.

I sit there.

"Saige's visiting next week. Trinity's bringing him." He smiles.

I see.

He laughs now while slicing the steak in half. "You know, Trinity called at the office a while ago. She said he uttered his first word already. It was Mama. Told you, he'll remember you. Trinity's showing your picture to him every day and every night before he goes to sleep."

Really?

"Yeah. You must be visiting him there often."

No. I haven't walked away from home since two years ago.

"Meeting again with the investor tomorrow. I hope it goes well. Be with me at the office, okay? Need you there."

I smile. Can't promise.

"Anyway, I hope I don't sleep again on the carpet tonight. Wake me up at twelve in case I do so, okay?"

I laugh to myself. Sure.

My plate on the table remained clean. Sebastian washed his dishes that night and my plate stayed on the table again even as he turned off the lights in the hall.

The next day, he woke up on his bed.

And for a week after, I stayed again at home.

I guess I'll never be able to walk away. And on all of those most days, I will still love him. I hope when he grows another year older than me, Saige can finally live with him again here at the street he named after me. So that I can watch the both of them outgrow me.

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Entry 03
The Story of Abberie Maiden