2018 Writing Scrapbook

Life

They never had a big wedding. The two of them simply didn't see the point. She looked absolutely stunning in the lacey sleeves of her dress, the train flowing down the aisle across scattered rose petals. Her veil was soft and transparent, a glittering tiara placed upon her head, and her golden tresses curled down her back. Yet to her, not another soul was there to see it. Only him. The cheers of the crowd were static in her ears. They drummed at the back of her mind, yet she couldn't place a finger on what they were. For in his eyes, she found her match. She murmured to him, "I love you," and he murmured, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

The reception was quaint, the honeymoon traveling to a remote land far-off into the distance, where they tread through the woods and made passionate love in a cabin as the leaves drifted to the ground around them. Whispering in hushed voices, she murmured, "I love you," and he murmured, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

They dreamed of children. They saw the world in its entirety, and they thanked the Lord for what luck they had in discovering one another, for being brought together. And she murmured to him, "I love you," and he murmured, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

So she wrote her stories, and he wrote his poetry, a gift to her. He did his medical research, and they both found success in life, her gift to him. They bought a house in the mountains where she painted and they would dash into the heart of the woods and utter sweet nothings against the bow of an aspen tree. And they lived in seclusion, their cottage in the hills, where it snowed down upon them and locked them up in the golden glow of their house.

When the snow melted, not a single snowflake remaining, they would ride far and wide into the sunset. He would take her into his arms and press his lips against hers, for never would he soak in enough of her. And she murmured, "I love you," and he murmured, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

The next summer, they tried. Their dream, it was to be made into a reality- Children, a blonde girl with dark brown eyes, and a sweet little boy with white hair like the moon and eyes as blue as the ocean. She could see them in the meadow by the woods, dancing in a bed of wildflowers. Her eyes would grow wide as she watched the fluttering wings of a butterfly, and he would sit beside his sister and stare up at the leaves in the trees. But alas, it was not meant to be, and she sobbed into her pillow at night as he curled up around her. "I love you," she choked, and he murmured, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

Her eyelids drooped and her pen was lost. The sunsets lost their vibrancy, and the aspens lost their touch. Instead, the shape of their leaves was a familiar token to her- a tear. At long last, a bottle became dear to her, for no longer could it sully any dreams of hers. The snowflakes came, pelting down flake after flake, and she watched the window until she saw a man, but not one with the matching ring to hers. But after months, there were fights and screaming, and the one with the ring raised his voice and slammed his fist into the wall. No more were the days of riding and poems and the golden glow of their house. The snow enveloped them and they were locked within. But she begged and pleaded, and screamed, "I love you!" and he reminded her, "I love you too, and I will be with you until the day I die."

Yet it wasn't enough. She needed more, so she left. She taught English in the parts of the world that needed her sympathy. She told herself that they were the only ones that mattered, not herself, yet she found no fulfillment. Meanwhile, the match to her ring waited for her return.

He waited and waited, but life went on. He waited, but he was told to move on. He waited, but the devil came knocking on his doorstep. The snowflakes took a nasty whish, and she returned just too late to a letter on the counter of her home and a pine box in the ground. So she carried the letter to the place where the pine box lay, and she stumbled, falling onto its site. With trembling hands, she placed the letter on the slab of stone, and sobbed, "I love you."

But only the letter replied:

"I love you. And I told you I'd be with you until the day I die."