Memento Mori


He already knew that things wouldn’t be easy, but he had never thought it would be this hard.

Sighing, he leaned his weary back against the decrepit bench, probably as old as he was. Hand on top of his walking stick: black cedar wood with a polished handle because he didn’t like those grubby metal-type that made a loud clang whenever he bumped into something. The wind is silent, the afternoon was falling, the babes on the playground were dispersing one by one to the arms of their loving parents only to come back the next day and wreak another havoc on the sandbox or the jungle gym. He paid little to no attention to any of them, as his mind was too preoccupied with the same feeling, same smell, same touch, same everything that was no longer there ever since she was gone forever.

Half of his heart, part of his breath. He watched the life diminishing from her beautiful eyes before they were closed, forever, he watched his tears dropping on her hand, grasping his own tightly, the tears dropping and then sliding down to the sparkly gleam of their wedding ring on her brittle finger. “Goodbye, my love,” she said, barely a whisper, before his life shattered into a million tiny pieces.

This playground, where he was now, sitting there but not really there, is where she said yes. What felt like an eternity ago. They danced under the streetlamp after, laughing merrily, she couldn’t hold back her ugly cry (that’s what she called it, but for him she never had an ugly cry, never even had a single ugly moment). Not even when she said her farewell, a skeletal figure on the hospital bed, with countless tubes over the sinister beeps of the machine. She was beautiful. Every day. Every moment. Even now, when he closed his eyes, and opened it again, he could see her dance, smell her hair, feel her soft fingertips caressing his face.

The night has arrived and the same streetlamp where they once danced and laughed and were infinitely happy gave out a feeble light to the bench where he sat, while the montage of her smile flickered across the opposite wall like a neverending loop of silent movies.


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