I continued my recent attempt at therapy, began painting the walls of my living room, and daydreamed of a future that might someday be mine: I would pick wildflowers for her in the summer, we'd slow dance in our PJ's, she would look at me in that special way no one has before. In every image, every dream, it would be Maria's hand that held mine, Maria's voice that whispered goodnight, Maria's lips that kissed me good morning.
I couldn't stop thinking about Maria, she filled my head, filled me. Honestly, I didn't want her out, couldn't bear to forget. As I lay awake at night, I replayed that afternoon, that night, and that morning over and over and over and over again in my head, watching as it played out, noticing my uncommon smile and the way her warmth seemed to seep into me. As excruciating as it was to lose her repeatedly as I watched her walk out my door, I replayed that scene the most. The way she reached for the door handle, then paused with her fingers still outstretched. How she looked as she pivoted, turning to face me briefly. The words that flowed through her lips: I'm glad you moved here, Holly. Maybe I'll see you around? She asked in her delicious accent. Every time I replayed it, I saw the same thing. I would nod my head, my expression a mix of confusion, joy, and hidden despair. The way her lips lifted into a special Maria half-smile, and how her hair bounced as she turned away and pulled open the door, stepping out into the bright sunlight. I even wished I could follow her there, to that sunny place.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Maria (on hold)
RomanceHolly and Maria, now in their late sixties, have now been a couple very much in love for about 40 years. Life as it once was grinds to an abrupt halt when Maria is diagnosed with terminal cancer. Holly starts to write down their life together, how t...
