Forever in Your Eyes

Chapter 1

"You can't have the cake and eat it too."

~Unknown

Many of you have heard of me. You might have shaken my hand eagerly. My name has appeared in numerous books and there may even be a monument or two dedicated to me. But take that all away and you'll find just me- a boy who has tried to live his life to the fullest.

At a ripe old age of seventy, my hair has turned to shades of gray and white. My arthritis prevents me from being able to write very often and every morning I see wrinkles that weren't there the night before. I know that I am in the last stages of my life. This is the closing; the denouement.

It's not hard to face this reality. I know that it is the cycle of life and no tears or cries or pleas can change it. In my heart, which I fear may stop beating indefinitely if it suffers another attack, I wish that I could be back home in the quite country, sitting by the fire as its blazing tongues warm my body and bedeck the room with dim light; a book of Keats poetry in my hand as I read the flowing words aloud in a soothing, caressing voice; my wife's head on my lap as I stroke her once midnight tresses and her eyes drift from opened to closed.

But sadly, every desire of the heart cannot be fulfilled. That is my dream; my one want that can never be granted. For I know what my true future holds. I know that I will be spending the rest of my days here in St. Mungo's Hospital for Wizard Patients.

Sometimes, living in this place of the sick and needy, I feel I could go mad. Every day is more tiring than the one before; my legs ache after hours of walking the halls; the screams of pain haunt dreams and the looks of emptiness in the eyes sends a chill down my spine. But in all of these troubles; in all of this madness I have something to hold onto- love. A love that will last forever. I love that I will follow to the ends of the Earth.

~*~*~*~*~

My alarm sounds like it does every morning. I rise from my bed in the hospital and slowly inch my way to the bathroom across the hall, carrying my toothbrush, toothpaste and washcloth. As I wash my face and brush my teeth, I notice that the wrinkles on my face have grown and the bags under my eyes are still there, like big purple lights that announce to the world how I toss and turn in my sleepless nights. My hair is a mess as usual and I don't bother to comb it.

After returning my things to my room, I take a seat at my desk, which is covered with pictures of the past, and open the top drawer to retrieve what I know will be there. It is a book. Leather-bound in blue and well-worn, it contains a story that I could recite by heart. Written by hand in neat cursive, the words will be forever engraved in my heart.

My task finished, I shut the drawer and, with the book in my hand, I limp my way down the hallway to room 206. Behind the door, silence reigns as the nurse quietly arranges the clean clothes in the dresser. My light knock makes her jump, but her shock is quickly replaced by happiness as she recognizes me. Opening the door, I quietly walk to the seat by the side of the bed. The nurse is already talking to the patient that lies there.

"Miss, there's a man here who's going to read to you."

The patient herself looks at me with silvery blue eyes that shine in the light of the morning. Though she is old, tired and sickly, I can still see her radiant beauty and I feel myself inhale. I know that reading to her will not be easy. It never is. But just being allowed to sit near her and feel her steady gaze on mine is enough to keep me going.

"Who are you?" she asks. It is a question that I knew would come and I am ready with an answer.

"My name is Mark. Do you like stories? Because I brought along with me one of my favorites."

A flicker of interest appears in her eyes and that is a good sign. "What story?"

A small smile forms on my face and I reply, "It's a love story. A story about two people who's love is so strong, no distance, people or things can break it."

The patient lies back in her bed and makes herself comfortable among all the pillows. "I think I might like this story."

With the consent granted, I open the book. "It all began forty three years ago in a remote castle that served as a school for witches and wizards alike..."