Memories of a Fallen Leaf

One Last Dance

White material flutters, alike to that of a moth's wing or a loose-fitting nightgown. Its white mysterious silhouette gives it a shroud of secrecy making it a fitting part of the night. However, it is only the curtain, caressed by the delicate wind. Not pushing or demanding, just supporting and assisting, offering me an open palm into the wide, wide world. Curiosity gets the better of me and I ease the curtain aside, softly and with care, just as I have done with my heart. Now is a time for peace and rest, not excitement or anxiety. I have already been through so much.

My lantern's light guides me through the partially open door and onto an outside terrace, free from the secrets and shadows that have trapped me indoors for so long. Am I ready for this freedom? The shadows may be unwelcoming and privative but I know them well. Out here in the fresh air so much can happen, there are so many possibilities. Too many possibilities.

I hear a voice echo from behind me, calling out my name. I need not turn around to know who it is and I accept his presence without a hint of doubt. All the while my eyes wander over the animated skyline. Lights dart in front of my irises and I watch people, rushing up and down the streets, captivated by the activity. I feel him stand beside me. There is no need to talk, we have passed the need to fill the silence, one another's company is enough. I feel him place a calloused hand onto my arm and I turn to face him. I am struck by the glimmer in his eyes, a sparkle of excitement. How I love those ocean blue depths, which captivated me at my first glance and his glistening smile. How he manages to seem so enthusiastic continues to amaze me. But all is not well. Despite how he tries to hide it, even in the ill-lit night, his skin lacks luster, his eyes are lined with maroon bags and his flaxen hair is windblown.

Why do they let him work in this state? Do they not see the newly pigmented spots on his skin, even though he continues to deny their existence? Are there not other gardeners out there who can do just as good of a job? I know he loves his work and I love him for it but I cannot continue to see him like this. Everyday he comes back more fatigued than the last and he has thinned out to the point that it frightens me. This is no longer the healthy man I met all but four years ago. That man is long gone now only a husk of him remains.

A harsh blast of sound echoes from down the street, tearing me out my thoughts. My head turns in that direction but I am pulled back to his face, still regal despite his condition. He parts his lips as if he is to speak, but no words come out. Suddenly music, from a nearby celebration, brings the moment to life and the city becomes truly alive as the night begins. He grabs my hand to pull me close. Arm in arm we go to dance the night away just as we have done many a time in the past. But this time we do not need anyone else, this moment is ours. The music picks up, making me forget the circumstances, and laughter builds up inside of me, desperate to be let out. And I let. I let the world know that I am happy to be here in his arms. I let the world know that no matter what is thrown at me I will have these moments to get me through. As long as I have him.

And in the height of the moment, I feel the splatter of rain fall onto my face, and the sky is filled with delicate droplets of water. I make an attempt to go inside but he pulls me back. And on this gorgeous heavenly night, he holds me close and goes to seal the moment. But before his lips touch mine, I am alone.

The music turns into the rustle of crushed leaves; the falling rain turns to tears and his touch only the gentle caress of the wind. My heart is empty once more. And as I stare up into the heavens, just as I did with my lover's eyes, I let the tears stream down my face. The pain comes crashing back and I make no attempt to resist. I am not ready for this world. It is harsh, it is desolate and it is unforgiving.

And in the corner of my eye, I see the white curtain, fluttering, caressed by the delicate wind, welcoming me back into the shadows. Picking up my extinguished lantern I return back to the dark house, my mansion of secrets. With the white curtain welcoming me back to my rightful place, I place my feet over the threshold and carefully shut the door. All the while one thought stubbornly remains in the melancholy lurks of my mind.

Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch.

Author's Note: Please let me know any adive you might have or whether or not you want an explanation