🥀 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐬 🥀

🥀 My Last 🥀

🥀

My rapid breath evened out as I
laid awake beside my sleepy lover.
My drowsy eyes prance 'round the
room, only to land on my beloved.

I stared at her full lashes that flutter and
feather over her closed eyes; her
cheeks puffed and parched lips parted
as she slept away without a care.

My eyes drifted down to her clasped
hands, the diamond in our wedding ring
glowing underneath the golden silk that
weaves in through the curtains.

I gently brought her limp hand up to
my mouth, letting my lips press
against the shimmering stone as
my lovesick smile grew wide.

As I let my large hand intertwine with
her lithe fingers, I rested my forehead
against her own, my eyes never once
drifting off of her peaceful face.

Her slow breathing brought a feeling of
calm, like how her love brought a sense
of purpose and unconditional joy that I
would never trade for anything at all.

The tranquility of the soft silence,
the comfort from her radiating warmth;
the myriad of emotions that out-pours
from my soul, from my love for her;

They all made me realise something.

As the alarm rang away; as the birds
chirped with cheer; as her soft breath
fanned over my face; as her grip on my
hand tightened, I finally understood.

I am hers, and she is mine.

She's my final love, my own home,
my only hope, my everlasting dream,
my purpose in life, my safe haven —
she's my everything.

She's one thing and anything and
everything I've ever wanted and
needed and desires and hoped for and
dreamed of, absolutely everything.

The feelings that overwhelmed my
senses, was reminiscent of my wedding
day. But even as I lost my breath and
control to it all, I embraced it.

My lips trembled as a shaky smile
grew, my eyes beginning to water
and my breath growing shallow as I
kissed our wedding ring once more.

And as I watched her beautiful eyes
slowly flutter open, I reminded myself
once more, more firmly now.

She is my last.

. . .

I was her last.

Was I not?

I would like to believe that I was,
as I am out here all alone, in the
freezing winter with a permanently
shattered heart and lightless soul.

It's quiet, and not a peaceful
silence — it is deafening and
chilling, so errily still and motionless
that it is incredibly unnerving.

The wind blew viciously, the 'chilling'
air harsh like a slap against my
reddened cheeks. And yet, it hurt less
than the shards of my heartbreak.

My eyes remain glued to the ebony wood
of the open casket before me,
the lifeless face of my beloved hauntingly
pale as it faced skyward.

The blurry vision of her corpse was
all my teary eyes could muster, and
every second I spend staring hurt
more as she doesn't awaken.

I continue to stare, hoping and
praying that she would open her eyes
and look at me, smile at me, laugh
and reassure me and never leave me.

But she never did.

She stayed silent and motionless,
unresponsive in her dark coffin,
unwilling to talk or move or breath,
unwilling to come back to me.

I wanted to step closer, wanted to
try awakening her, wanted to shake
her, wanted to hold her limp hand;
I wanted to bring her back.

But I couldn't.

I stood still, right where I was,
unable to do anything more than
stare at my beloved, internally hoping
that she'd climb out and hold me.

But she wouldn't.

And I had to accept it.

I inhaled slowly, hiccups rising
as tears continued to trail down,
forcing my eyes shut and forcing
myself to remember one thing.

I am hers, and she is mine.

I repeated that line over and over,
those few words comforting me more
than I ever thought I could be,
and that put a halt to my cries.

I reminded myself over and over,
without thinking of anything else,
that even if death were to do us part,
that we would be together.

I was her last;
she is my last.

🥀