Friday, February 1, 2019

Denouement


Bloody hell, how I wish I could write happy, but my happy writing is saccharin and silly and so my work tends to turn more upon rather sobering terrain. Here is the end of one of my manuscripts. Lost love never easy, but hopefully a little hope flickers through…

***


He remembered it like yesterday. A promise made, in obeisance to that heart given over.   I will love this girl from this day forward, and from this day forward, she will know from me no less. An incontestable warrant, moored not to expectation, but simply, truth. Having resigned himself to a life without love, he’d stumbled upon the love of his life. Two broken souls, their wayward pieces somehow assembled in the arms of the other. An embrace which felt always like home, but which had always to end too soon. I’ll be right here, he would tell her. Always right here. Remember.

It was not to be. It had been years now—four, five? —but what was time but the arbitration of a life? The denouement of a man’s soul began with the hollowing of his heart, molding all chronologies to come. He was a man out of time, frozen still in that embrace she’d relinquished, but life had to go on, and so shaped up out of the void new realities. He’d long-since relinquished his dream of a life with her, but longer still understood it was not about having her, just loving her, and if he could do so as the most unswerving of allies, then even this was a blessing beyond anything he deserved.

It was not to be. Days died before him, but he remained at his post. She won’t return this way again, reproached small voices from hinterland regions of his soul. Aye, he answered, this is surely true. But I shall be here if she does. And he would give her the road, truth be told. He was weak, yes, but as sure as he’d been standing for her all this time, he would in a heartbeat stand down. She would see he’d been there all along, all this time, and this was all that was left to him, that she would understand she was worth that and more. Worth everything.

Every breath, every heartbeat for her. Whatever song remained, hers. Whatever chapters remained, he’d write for her, for from the day he’d loved her, the story of his life, inscribed upon his heart from the first embrace, was her. He remembered it like yesterday. And like yesterday, today, and so too, tomorrow. And would the day ever come that she smiled to know it? No, cried the small voices. No.

This is surely true, he answered. But such is my road. And should she happen along it, I will cede it, for the future is hers, and may it glitter with love and light, and I will smile to know it.