Polarity

You've left me for 2 years now, but I still remember every moment with you in vivid clarity, replaying in an endless torture inside my head. My longing for you will never stop. My love for you will never die even as our physical forms perish and the world we know is thrown into its impending and approaching oblivion. You left me, yes, but I never blamed you for it. Never. 

I remember, 5 years old, the feisty little girl with dark raven curls and pale milky skin and deep red lips - you - had already shown glimpses of the disastrous, volcanic temper. You would throw a violent screaming fit when your mother attempted to drag you home, and bawl and screech and fume when someone knocked over your precious sandcastle you spent the hour making in the sandpit. I was once a victim of your relentless pushing and yelling. You were such a firecracker even then.

10 years old, we were the best of friends. I'd wait patiently outside your house to walk to school with you every morning and we'd talk and laugh and we were invincible, infallible. Soon, our classmates started taunting us for being boyfriend and girlfriend. Your pure, white-hot rage towards that pitiful gang of boys was indescribable. Suspension for 2 weeks from school and detention for months were the spawn of their injuries. First you'd feel anger towards them for picking on us, then cry because you felt victimized, before reverting to anger and destroying all your water colours, brushes and crayons.

It seemed too fast - soon we were both at the age of 15. Our close-knit friendship had blossomed into romance. With your crackling temper, nobody dared come close to you. I was the only friend you had, and the only one willing to love you. We would bake together at yours, always trying failingly to perfect your favourite blueberry muffins. I'd seen other couples laughing and joking about how their muffins and cupcakes and cookies ended up as major failures, yet they'd still lovingly feed them to each other and polish the plate clean. After all, it blossomed out of their love and they'd worked on it together with their hands. You, on the other hand, would start throwing the muffins out of the window or smash the plates when they were imperfect. Sometimes, you'd get depressed and cry over why your life was such a mess, with the stem of the tears located in the dryness or uncooked quality of the blueberry muffins. I didn't mind. I understood why you would cry, get angry, then happily suggest we try at another batch. I understood. You couldn't control it.

A year to pure freedom, at 20 it seemed we were truly impossible to defeat. We were at the top of the world, having fun and doing road trips. We ended up succeeding in driving through all 50 states, all the while staying in cheap hotels for the night and eating at the local diners. We bought little and inexpensive souvenirs along the way to remember our journeys. A postcard of the Niagara Falls signed in your loopy cursive and my messy words, a bottle of lake water from Lake Michigan, a keyring of the Statue of Liberty, all little tokens to track our route around the states. Now, they lie in a dear little floral-print box under my bed for me to reminisce the good times we had. As fierce you were when your fury was riled, the experience we had nightly was godly and beyond compare. On our road trips you were happy a lot, sweet and mannered and loving and caring and wonderful company. Those were the times I lived for, to see your beautiful smile and smell the flowers in your hair and hold your tanned hand. Oh, what I'd give to have your tiny fingers in my grasp again.

The summer of our 25th year, we were married. When I proposed on the beach with candles surrounding us in a heart shape, me on one knee with the diamond ring in the dear little satin box, you were ecstatic. You slid the ring on your finger without hesitation and threw your arms around me, brimming with barely-controlled excitement and pleasure. But your smiles quickly turned into your infamous tantrums. Why did I do such a cliché proposal? Why was the diamond on the ring colourless? Why did it have to be lavender candles? You threw a delirious fit and before long came crying to me seeking forgiveness. I'd long grown accustomed to your seething turned sobbing. It was a part of you I loved. Such a wildfire, such a beauty. Our wedding was perfect, with many congratulating us on how fairy tale-like it turned out. You had lovely little flowers in your hair matching my rose corset. Little did they know about the countless fights shared between us concerning petty things like whether to invite my cousin who liked to pick his nose (he had grown out of it for 8 years) to the subspecies of the roses for the flower arrangement.

2 years rolled by in a dizzying blur. We'd tried and tried and tried to conceive a child, but failed and failed and failed. Whenever a possible sign would pop up to prove that you were pregnant, pregnancy tests would be carried out. But each time, they proved negative, and each time, something in the house broke.

Then in a year, we found out that you were expecting in January. Our daughter was supposed to be born in early November. Being parents for the first time, we didn't know what to do. You were constantly stressed out on the thought that you wouldn't be a good mother to our child and many a nights I stayed up to comfort you as you shed your tears onto my shoulder, the same shoulder that met with so many of your tears that it seemed soaked to the bone with them. But I didn't mind. 

The room for the baby was soon ready. The walls were painted a soothing light pink with some red roses gracing its surfaces. The crib was ready with a rainbow assortment of toys and pillows. Her clothes had been carefully picked out by your careful hands, most in varying shades of pinks, purples and yellows. We were convinced everything would go smoothly. Our baby girl would come healthily into our lives, our perfect daughter, and we'd continue with our imperfectly perfect lives with our fingers crossed that she wouldn't inherit your sad, sad disorder.

But no, nothing went the way it planned.

At the age of 28 I was left a widow with only little pictures and knic-knacks to remember you by. I was left with half an empty bed and a totally empty house, usually filled with the sound of your melodious, tinkling laughter or your morbid screams as you broke yet another thing or the hysterical sound of your crying. Days passed since you left me, and days snowballed into weeks. Weeks trickled into months. Months slipped into years. Day by day I would go to sleep on a wet pillow. The first few nights were the hardest - or maybe not, for the smell of your hair still lingered on the sheets which I came to miss so badly afterwards - as I couldn't come to terms with your death. I still expected to roll over and feel the warmth of your body seeping through the blanket, to wake up in the morning to your gorgeous smile, to enter the day with the love of my life with me. I quickly learned to adapt though. You were dead, simple as that. You were dead, and I was still breathing. Life goes on. And the rom for our baby? It was never occupied.

In the end I sold that house and moved far, far away from our memories. You would have loved it here, with airy rooms cut out with large bay windows and a spacious living room to break more valuables. Sometimes, I would catch myself laying the mahogany table out for two and calling out with a smile for you. Then I'd remember that you were dead, and it seemed like I was dead too, left an empty husk of the man I used to be. Love has such a gentle caress, yet is so brutal in other ways. Men aren't supposed to cry, but I would pay no heed to the baseless stereotype and weep freely for the loss of my beautiful queen and the princess I never truly knew. I wouldn't, couldn't, love another.

How could I? You were my one true love. I knew your secrets, only me myself and I. I was the one who drove you home from the clinic and held you when you were told of the confirmation of the disorder. But bipolarity or unipolarity mattered none to me. Your polarity didn't matter. I loved you, still do, and always will.

~~~~~

Hello my lovelies thank you for checking out my little short story here :) I really appreciate it. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback in the forms of comments. The picture on the side is supposed to be the girl in the story I think it's perfect for her.

This isn't my first story but I deleted my previous ones. I hope I won't delete this one though :) If you like it please give a follow if you wish to and I'll try my best to post some more :D Thanks and stay awesome!