Sunlight of Sorrow

And there she was: standing on the edge of goodbye, among the broken pieces of a love that couldn’t last.

Her curly, golden hair fell on her shoulders in a way that always made me lose control; so careless and yet so cynical. She had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen: grey, reflecting all the sadness of her past lives. And her body, so splendid that I could get lost in it, with the curves in the exact place, that made her look so human, so real.

The first months of our love were even better than the ones described in the movies. We were soulmates in a way literature or poets couldn’t even begin to describe. She completed my soul and the fire in my heart was calmed when her watery voice was near. So tell me, how was I supposed to just let her go?

Oh, please! Watching her disappearing into the blinding and cruel sunlight is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I’ll tell you anything, just don’t make me remember the look on her face as she turned away forever!

Of course the problems had been increasing in a way none of us could control: all of the parties, the drinking, the multiple jobs I had lost over the months, her gambling issue and, of course, the money that was running out. But all of the great couples in History had their affairs, Romeo and Juliet! Heathcliff and Catherine! We were just like them, our love was meant to be written in the pages of life, beyond death and eternity.

And when we were about to transcend, she told me that she couldn’t be with me anymore. Suddenly, all of the years flew out of our hands, into the rotten darkness of resentment and oblivion. Was I clinging to a futureless path? I didn't care, as long as I was with her.

I tried to grab her only to tell her how much I loved her, you know I couldn't hurt her, you know she was mine and I was hers! It was all her fault for trying to steal our future from us.

I remember the last day of love. I came home, drunk again. Everything was spinning around me, I didn’t have control over my body, my boss fired me and I felt so humiliated. How was it possible that I couldn’t keep a job serving coffee to a bunch of rich people?

I took a shower to wash away the guilt. But even after leaving my skin red from all the exhaustive cleaning, I still felt filthy and unworthy. She couldn’t see me that way, we had already gone through enough.

Consequently, I decided to cook her a nice dinner. We were going to laugh and I was going to nervously tell her what happened, but the forgotten love that had blossomed during the meal was going to make her feel merciful. She was going to put her soft hand over my reddish cheek and all the problems would go away, as they always did.

So I prepared the table, with a nice, white cloth printed with blue and purple flowers. I put hundreds of candles all over the house, especially in the dining room. The smell of turkey and lavender coming from the oven was as heady as the bourbon running through my veins. It was going to be a night to remember.

How foolish I was to think that she was going to love me back, I gave her everything and she just left! I knew everything had changed when she gave the most horrid face of disgust, almost as if she didn’t know me anymore. The pity on her face was even worse than she walking away.

The clock kept spitting the hours. The food was already cold and the bottles on the shelf ran out of any kind of liquor. I remember falling asleep and having these vivid dreams, almost as epiphanies: blood and sobs. By the time the sun started to rise, I was completely sober and full of rage. How dared she to make me wait like that? I was dying to see her and that wasn’t the first time she didn’t come home.

All of the sudden, I heard little and jammed steps in the living room. She was laughing alone and she smelled like a man’s lotion.

—Oh! I didn’t realize you were here— she was giggling in a childish way.

—I’ve been waiting for you—all of the anger was bursting, waiting to explode at any moment.

—Shhh. You are so loud and I have a headache, I really need to sleep.

At that moment, she saw the food and started to eat it. Her hands were dirty and the grease of the turkey slipped in a grotesque way; not even a thank you came out of her mouth. All the emotions contained were starting to flourish.

—I made that for you, honey— I said after she had almost finished. —It was a special occasion and I need to talk to you about money.

—Oh, money! Bloody money!— she always faked a British accent when she was drunk or stoned. —Don’t tell me about it ‘cause I lost tons of it tonight. But don’t give me that look, baby. You know how much I love you.

She started kissing me as I tried to push her away. The more I repealed her, the more she leaned on me. When I stopped resisting, she bit my lips so hard that blood came out of them. I screamed but she kept attacking me. She hugged me and scratched me with her nails in my already hurted back. For the first time, I realised how much her love had hurt me.

You can’t blame me for fighting back! I was only trying to defend myself. That ’s when I pushed her. I swear I didn ’t mean it to be so hard, but the push got out of hand and she crashed right onto the shelf; all of the books fell on top of her and a little thread of blood peeked out of her head.

—I ’m sorry, baby — I approached and tried to help her to stand. But she was out of her mind, screaming she hated me and that she wasted the golden years of her life with a pathetic, small man. 

She stormed into the bedroom and before I could understand what was happening, she had her bags all packed up and she was leaving through the front door. The house was burning with huge flames of passion, fed by the candles. As she was leaving she said she couldn't stand it any more, that she was going to leave me.

I followed her into the garden, to the edge of goodbye and the broken pieces of love. I was not going to let her go that easily, she just turned to spit to me with her eyes and I just couldn't take it. All the shame, anger and love were mixed in a blend of confusion and sorrow. And her look! It was as if she didn't recognise me at all.

So I did what I had to do: I took the shovel that was sitting on the wall and smashed her head as hard as I could. I wasn't crying, not even when she begged for mercy with a deep voice that I've never heard before. That was the only way we could be written in the book of times, next to the greatest lovers who had died in the name of their love. Romeo and Juliet! Heathcliff and Catherine!

As she was laying on the grass, steady and beautiful, I disappeared into the dazzling sunlight, never to be seen again.