HE LOVED HER EYES. He felt that he could look in them forever and never tire. Maybe because her eyes showed every emotion she feels, a window to HER soul it may be. He never really knew why he always felt that he could drown in those chocolate brown pools deep set on her face.
She was a very engaging conversant. He was never once bored with every meeting. They would talk for hours on end aboout topics that range from current topics to nonsensical wonderings. Her voice, he knew, was the siren's call that would lure him to his destruction. It is also his saving grace. Not once did he suspect that she was keeping a grave secret.
He was visiting a sick relative that fateful day. He was just paying the rest of the medical bills when his gaze was arrested on the clinic door. He saw her. She looked stricken but still held her composure and he loved her for it. He knew a lot who went in hospitals, for whatever reason, went out crying or collapsing. As he approached her, he noticed the white sheet she was clinging to. Her hand was shaking violently. He stood before her now... she looked up... and for a moment stood silently, pleading him to understand. And she said the dreaded words...
"I'm dying in a month's time."
He stared blankly at her, not quite believing the words. And yet, the quiet truth in her eyes undid his disbelief. He felt that a month was not enough to show how he loved her. But he is going to try anyway. He always thought that a miracle would happen.
Her passing was sudden. She was lying on the lounge on his lap when he suddenly felt her hand go limp in his. He felt for a pulse and there was none. He is silently crying now. On her burial he stood behind the crowd, giving his goodbye the way she would have wanted.
He looked again at the doll before him. He created it himself, in the likeness of his beloved. Everything was crafted by his hand. Except for the eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes that he would never tire looking at, forever and a day.
She was a very engaging conversant. He was never once bored with every meeting. They would talk for hours on end aboout topics that range from current topics to nonsensical wonderings. Her voice, he knew, was the siren's call that would lure him to his destruction. It is also his saving grace. Not once did he suspect that she was keeping a grave secret.
He was visiting a sick relative that fateful day. He was just paying the rest of the medical bills when his gaze was arrested on the clinic door. He saw her. She looked stricken but still held her composure and he loved her for it. He knew a lot who went in hospitals, for whatever reason, went out crying or collapsing. As he approached her, he noticed the white sheet she was clinging to. Her hand was shaking violently. He stood before her now... she looked up... and for a moment stood silently, pleading him to understand. And she said the dreaded words...
"I'm dying in a month's time."
He stared blankly at her, not quite believing the words. And yet, the quiet truth in her eyes undid his disbelief. He felt that a month was not enough to show how he loved her. But he is going to try anyway. He always thought that a miracle would happen.
Her passing was sudden. She was lying on the lounge on his lap when he suddenly felt her hand go limp in his. He felt for a pulse and there was none. He is silently crying now. On her burial he stood behind the crowd, giving his goodbye the way she would have wanted.
He looked again at the doll before him. He created it himself, in the likeness of his beloved. Everything was crafted by his hand. Except for the eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes that he would never tire looking at, forever and a day.
Post Script: a dedication
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