Invisible Love

True love stories never have endings.

At some point, you have to realize that some people can stay in your heart but not in your life.

Sixty years ago, when I was 25, I met him. Everything was so unreal, abnormal, and most of all strange. At first, I was scared, confused, shocked, didn't know what to do, a million possible plans began to emerge from my head but none of them seemed right, too immoral; but then, I was scared of losing him. When he went, I was lost, terrified I'll forget him but you can't forget someone who gave you so much to remember.

Now, at eighty five years of age, I have one daughter and two grandchildren. Speaking of the devils.

"I don't want to go to sleep. Please Gran!" Screamed George, sorrowfully jumping into his bed.

George's a seven year old lad that gets his way by screaming. Not even screaming- more like screeching! He's a very hyper child indeed. He has brown hair, like his granddads, and blue eyes like both of his grandparents.

"Please Gran! Please, please, please..." Isabel begged.

Isabel is two years older than George; she has the same blue eyes like mine and her grandads. And she's the only one that has inherited the blond hair from my side of the family.

"Okay hun, how 'bout I tell you a bed time story?" I said, knowing that was something they could not deny.

"Okay!" They both gleefully shouted at once, and with that they snuggled into their beds.

After giving them a peck on the cheek, I started the story, smiling cautiously, not wanting to scare them with a sad and scary ghost story.

"One hundred and 12 years ago, there was a wise, young, respectable priest, he wanted to find the 'one', fall in love with her and live happily ever after. He never asked for anything before, so he was one hundred percent certain that when he asked for his hand in marriage with Marie-Laire (a catholic sister), they wouldn't deny him..." I paused, remembering they're only kids, and that they musn't know the real story as this will surely break their dreams, enough people's dreams were broken already, I thought to myself angrily. "And he was right! They lived happily ever after in a Rectory." I sighed.

"That's stupid!" George spitefully spat out.

"No it isn't! They fell in love! Duhh, stupid!" Isabel shouted back at him.

"What's a rectory, Gran?" George asked, ignoring Isabel.

"Dear, a rectory is a place where a vicar or a minister lives; the church gives it to them." I stated, not wanting them to get confused.

"Come on, get to sleep." I quickly added, giving them each a peck on both of their cheeks again and switching off the light, wishing them both goodnight. And walked towards my bedroom. The children came with their parents for a mini holiday, well, i was missing them, so i called them over.

My bedroom door's the only one that's white in the whole house. It isn't much of a house, more like a mansion, with: a swimming pool (which was fitted in, two years ago), water fountains (scattered absolutely everywhere!), ten bedrooms, two kitchens; the list is endless. My old, fragile hands, grasped hold of the gold, cold handle (just the way I like it; cold), and pushed, the door flung opened. And, my honey scent perfume, smacked me on the face. I love that perfume. He loved it. Calmly, I stepped in. A familiar electrifying sensation like no other, ran down my back and up again. It was just like he was here, with me right now- it was the same tingly feeling I would get whenever I was around him. I miss him.

An incredibly long and wide mirror, was laid across a soft cream wall; in the centre of the room was a chest box, silver with millions of small, delicate flowers carved into it; it was full with memories; memories of me and him that i cherish both in my heart and box. On the top right-hand side of the extravagant mirror was a picture of me and him; my first love and last.