I wake up to another bright morning. Despite having sank deep into the night and was lulled by sweet dreams, it was another figure that my brain brought back again. The figure I try to keep in a corner of the heart. Not because I want to forget – but continuing to live life along with it will obscure not only my upcoming plans but also blur my eyes.
Her departure was so abrupt. As usual she drove alone to work, even though I had reminded her to rest at home. She said her head was dizzy, but she really had to finish some important tasks. After having breakfast together and kissing the back of my hand she turned on her car. It’s only been two weeks since we occupied this house and she still had to remember the route to her workplace, and because sometimes some routes were unilaterally closed she had to rotate.
As usual I didn’t always contact her if not necessary. Perhaps, occasionally, I will remind her to eat and pray. She was more concerned about me. Always asking about my days, worrying about my health condition, always smiling to see my dreary or sullen presence now and then, and hardly ever complaining about the not romantic me. She’s always been like that even before we’re married. Although we weren’t always intensely corresponding but she always kept me in touch, wrote me almost anything. Her phone hardly ever left her except when she was with me. I don’t really see why she’s that attached to it when we’re apart whilst she can put it away while we’re together, on any activities, even though sometimes I had to command first.
She likes me very much, I mean even though I reprimanded her I still see a glimpse of sincere smile of her when obeying me. She hardly ever said no to me except for things related to ghost movies or kittens – two things I can’t bear. She would be very panicked to know my illness relapsed. Once she had left her office to pick me up, and I did not feel that bad.
Well, I love her, and that was one of the reasons when I married her two months ago. I do love her though I don’t always say it. Part of the sense of happiness she felt was that the three years dating with me had to end happily. How she had been faithfully longing for us. To marry the right man. How she had always wanted it to be since so young, about which she sometimes babbled to me in our spare moments together, which I didn’t always notice for its low urgency.
The happiness was all around: I was happy to be so grateful for marrying her. The main cause is because I really feel the perfections of living the life and I had became a much better person. I’m so relieved to be with the one who doesn’t complain and nag. The person who purely accepts me. And this kind of relationship is not easy to achieve – there are a million lessons and wounds to be taken first.
The clouds are constantly gray when my mind wanders into those times. If only I knew the happiness and the peace of life would be so alluring, I should have married her from the beginning we were together, three years ago. I should have been able to live this holy and graceful togetherness for many years to come. It’s not supposed to be here for just two months. Two months of magical chapters and bitter briefness.
The sun was nearly set and the usual traffic was so complicated when her tiny car was hit by a container truck with brake failures at an intersection. She certainly didn’t feel pain because God chose to hold her straight up, and mostly because I was the one who completely felt so much pain … mingled with countless regrets and eternal hurt, which I suppose I will bear until the end of my life.