Would you still love me today if you knew I would die tomorrow?

I could never remember where the fork went. It’s just one of those things that you never pay attention to going through life, like the color of one of your neighbors’ car, the way your watch touches your skin, or the feel of the door handle from your apartment complex’s door.

But the moment you need to remember that one detail, or the moment something changes: the car is no longer there, the battery runs out on your watch, a screw from the handle loosens up a bit, it’s there, the question immediately pops up. How was it before, what’s changed?

How many things do we take for granted?

The taste of clean water, the feeling of comfort in our home, sunlight, the warmth of your cat as it purrs sleepily in your lap, the beauty of your smile when you see me after a days’ work. The softness of your kiss as you embrace me and run your fingers through my hair.

The care you put into each and every meal you’ve prepared for us along the years. The way your hair always smelled as you embrace me when you snuggle with your nose close to my chest, never giving any hint as to the toil of those meals. My lips touch your neck, right below the left ear. Your skin is so soft, and the muscles underneath it tense with the movements of your hands. Your hair sways gently and I am flooded by the smell of chocolate. I can almost taste it.

Left, the fork goes to the left of the plate.

I can hear the ticking of the kitchen clock from where I’m standing in the livingroom. That ever present sound in our lives, that immaterial presence of the time we’ve spent together. It feels so surreal. All those flipping’s of the switch as we walked across the hallway to the bedroom, sometimes we never even made it that far as our passion engulfed us. All those tricklings of the bathroom faucet as we prepared for bed. The different smells of morning coffees, of pancakes and eggs, of toasts and fruits. Would they have been the same without it, without the stability and pressure it enacted on us?

I feel nervous. The ticking is unsettling, its sound hollow in the dusky room. Outside, the slanting rays have reached the roof of the building across the street. You shouldn’t be long now.

In my mind I can see your hurried steps as they walk across the train platform, briskly, purposefully. They’re meant for me, for us, for what is ours and ours alone. You’re wearing the pistachio dress you got when we went to Milan. You hounded me for hours to go back across town to get it, you couldn’t get it out of your mind. I wouldn’t let you out of my sight once you put it on, though. You looked divine, an empress extending her favors upon a lonely man. A lucky, lucky man.

To shine a light upon your dreamy visage would be sin, so I hurry to the bathroom and collect what little candles your romantic reading soirees in the bathtub have deemed appropriate to spare.

Should I light them now?

Our home is so empty without you. An orange light reflects from a window and I get caught in its brilliance. I feel nervous, as I always feel at dusk. As if the setting sun would highlight the unending emptiness of time. I would never live without you! I knew this simple truth from the moment I first set eyes upon your figure. A shadow of light. Born out Gods childish fantasies and whimsical regret of a world he left adrift. As Ahab’s, you would haunt my dreams ever after and fill my days with disquiet, a playful sprite in a suburban marsh filled with traps of sour temptations. And then, one day, you felt my need, my longing, my pain, and as the first morning rays chase away the misty fingers of the night, you chased away my isolation.

You won’t be long now. I can almost hear your steps on the tiles outside. The pitch of an uncorked wine fills the air with its nectar and I chase away that dreadful clock with sounds. We love music! You do, because you are music, and it is in beauties nature to thrive in itself, and I love it because of the way you do it. Each gentle flick, each tempered sway, all cursive motion is lived within your space and transformed into fluidity.

The hollowness was chased away.

The taste of dry red fills my mouth and warms my blood as I sway gently to the image of pistachio green in setting orange. You feel it too. You’ve always felt it, I would never want to not feel it ever again. And on an evening such as this we promised we’d always do so for as long as there was breath within our lungs. Do you remember what you felt? I do. I remember the days leading up to it, full with the agony of expectation, the joy, the exhilaration. Nights of cold sweats and mornings of forever afters when we would lock eyes, smile caringly and lose ourselves in ticklish kisses brimming with hope and desire.

I looked upon my blushing bride, and as I did a flash flood of emotion swept us into the night, we danced, we sang, we laughed, we cried, oh how we loved. You twirled, I paced, you smiled, I kissed and we were happy for we were wed. Forever after and a day.

It all comes back to me each time I look upon our wedding photo and I want to see it taking you away as well when you will sooth my day with your embrace, with this my wait’s complete. And you will come and crown the year and we will dine and wine, and sing and love. And I will know once more.

Would you still love me today if I were to die tomorrow?

“I would, I have, I will” came her reply, as pistachio green chocolate filled the evening air.