A Visit

A Visit

The clouds race overhead, capturing the sun and releasing it like a torturous game of cat and mouse, throwing elongated shadows onto the ground. An oppressive weight presses into the atmosphere as arrhythmic gasps of bitter breeze lash at me, blowing strands of hair into my eyes. I sniffled.

My hand grips the inside of my cloak; my fingernails dig through the dark fabric into the palm of my hand. Nervously, I tuck a thick, red lock of hair behind my ear. Under my robes, my other arm cradles gingerly a spray of white lilies. Its sweet, innocent fragrance stings my nose; its deliberate contrast against the blackness of my clothing burns my eyes. I bite my lip and tighten my hands, trying to suppress the shaking with no avail.

I reach the locked white picket fence. With a slight tap of my finger upon the clasp; the gate swings open lazily with a barely detectable whine. For the first time during the whole walk, I look up. My eyes meet an expanse of green fields, dotted with blackened stones. A gray blanket of mist envelopes the area; broken headstones struggle their way above, but with an imaginary brush of wings, are submerged again. I clutch my cloak tighter to me as I step onto the trodden path - trodden by no one but me.

Vestiges of my footprints lead a meandering trail, appearing and disappearing within the folds of the haze. Finally I come upon the willow; its low branches beckon me closer with lugubrious tugs at my heart. I close my eyes and let its wavering limbs brush my face before I kneel upon the muddy earth.

The lilies - the ones from last week - are still there, their petals wimp and wrinkled, their edges crunchy brown, curling skyward in a contemptuous smirk, so similar to... I shake my head. I extend a trembling hand to finger the nearest flower; ghostly, bruising, brown prints blossom from my touch upon the delicate, dying petals. Cautiously, I pick them up and lay the bunch next to a large mound of once-white lilies, their sickly scent stronger now, and permeate my being more forcefully. I place the new lilies against the headstone, embracing the small jade snake in the formation of an "M."

Why?

I rest within the small dip in the ground I've created from frequent visits.

Why must you torment me like this? I've come to see you every single week since then. Do I become tiresome?

I run the back of my hand over the flowers.

I remember you told me you like lilies; they remind you of unicorns, of spring dreams, of childhood. You would never admit to it, of course...

I tuck a few strands of hair from my face.

But I remember. I'll always remember.

A cold drop of liquid falls upon my knee. As I watch it slide off the dark fabric and disappear into the ground, a few more dapple the dirt near my hands. I look up. Black-gray velvet clothes the sky. Light droplets spray the willow branches, leaving crystalline beads clinging to its leaves. I glance at the lilies. Their rich petals bounce in the sprinkle, nodding to the breeze.

The rhythmic pattering becomes louder, more consistent, more urged. I turn my face towards the sky once more. My hood falls upon my shoulders as rain pounds into my eyelids and my lips. I stand up, raising my head higher into the bitter air.

You liked rain, too, didn't you? It's like dancing into a new beginning; twirling into a fresh start. It's almost as if rain can wash away the anger, the pain...

I make a small delicate twirl within the locks of the willow. My face stings as streams of salty, bitter tears carve burning paths down my cheeks.

But rain doesn't wash away tears...

Through my wet, tangled hair I see the lilies lying helplessly, splashed with dirt and bruises from the rain, their fresh new petals strewn about like remnants of a dirtied angel wing. I draw my hood up, clasp my cloak, and meander back along my trodden path. The footprints from before are already washed away, and the new ones I make melt quickly into the comforts of the rain.

Rain doesn't wash away tears, and you'll never come back. I'll wish, I'll hope, I'll dream, but I'll remember.

I'll always remember.