Into Dust
The chords drift slowly across the room draping over the furniture.They dance between the dust particles streaked by the sunlight. They resurrect long dead thoughts.They find empty space that consumes my core. Me. The space that used to contain a heart and the empathy I should feel now.
The guitarist pulls each string and as each return to its place, they pull up from a void, thoughts. Each is a stab, a pang, a sadness of warmth and a girl.
Fire for hair, lips of a summer wind straightened over almost perfection for a smile, and a pair of emeralds glittered within, stairing out, always smiling, below the hairline.
There was never a doubt. She was mine. I was hers. It was never spoken. We both knew.
I loved her....and...She loved me.
She was almost 18 at the time of the crash. I was going to give her a ring the next week. We hadn't told anyone. Not her parents. Not mine. Not our friends.
Life is supposed to be happy and spent with the one you love. It sometimes doesn't happen this way.
The music has expanded the room, the violin wafts agains the walls and ceiling as I sit in the dark and stare. I don't want to think of her anymore. Every day i See her. I will until I die.
It was a hot day in September. She and a friend drove from training horses to the house.
There was no one to fault, no one to blame. Her friend overcorrected. She was killed instantly.
As the song plays I see her the way she was..Smiling and laughing. I kiss her and smell her hair again.
As the song begins to fade I think of her again in that cold lonely plot on the side of the hill next to the brilliant mountains that reach against the blue.
She is alone again. It is cold in the ground..in the dark. She has faded into almost dust.
I think of the touch of her hand against mine. I morbidly think of the way her hand must look now, shriveled, dried, small...
I think,
"I would still hold her hand."
The song ends.....
