For Forever Is Never Enough

Think About You

The sun had set hours ago, but I couldn't seem to muster the courage to leave yet. Just a few more minutes, I told myself—silently cursing my own weakness. I knew I had already kept Liam waiting for more than an hour, but I knew he would forgive me. He always did. Always sweet to me. I knew I didn't deserve him. Yet I still ungraciously bestowed him with my lifeless presence.

The wind seemed heavy and angry today—half in contrast to my own emotions—trying its best to whisk away the long skirt covering my legs. The anger? I had moved past years ago, but the heaviness? That still resided, etched into the depths of my heart like an ugly scar that could never be removed, and never be fully hidden.

I dug my fingers through the sand, watching the eroded pieces of rock sift through my fingers, the coolness like a temporary balm to the fiery thoughts that restlessly boiled to the surface—demanding my full attention. How could I ever forget though? You can't erase 37 years of history just because you want to. No. The evidence laid bare like footprints on wet concrete, left to harden. There was no escape, especially not today, though I would never ask for it. I would much rather torture myself with thousands of memories, even the bad ones, then live never knowing the happiest moments of my life.

They said time heals all wounds, but that's bullshit. Even a thousand years could never erase what now seemed like a measly thirty-seven. Most people told me how lucky I was to have been blessed with that much time together, but I disagree. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted all of this lifetime, and the next, and the next, and the next until we both got sick of living—and even that would never be enough.

Today marked the five-year anniversary of his death. My beloved, the other half of my soul, the owner of my heart, and my best friend.

All that was left were the fragments of my quickly deteriorating memory and some haphazardly safe-kept photographs. Tightly shutting my eyes, I strained my mind to conjure his image. Those light brown eyes, always crinkling in earnest. The heavy dimple in his left cheek, absent from his right. The taunting curl of his lips and the wispy remnants of his graying hair. Even at sixty-six, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He had never been conventionally handsome, but he was mine—and that's all that mattered.

Never again would I hear his laugh, would I share my worries, would I see his smile. Never again would we fight over the mundane. Oh God, how I would kill to hear him yell at me just one more time. Never—

An incessant ringing in my pocket jarred me from my reverie. Liam. Our son. At least today, he would forgive my shoddy attempt at moxie.