Letting Go of the Past

“The past is like a weight carried by our souls. Cumbersome and capable of anchoring us down, preventing us from living in the present. To free ourselves, all we need to do is simply let go.” She had a habit of mentioning this to me from time to time. I never gave it much thought, but now it ran through my head like a tape recorder on repeat. And standing in a living room filled with the weight of the past didn't help much to silence that tape recorder.

Moonlight peeking past the window curtains softly illuminated the living room. Even the low visibility was unable to stop me from noticing the dust collecting on the furniture or the soft scent of a room left forgotten—forgotten by the house's occupant, except for a few missing bottles from a liquor cabinet in the corner.

The familiar sight pulls my mind to memories of the past, of times far more pleasant. Moments spent on the couch laughing together and looking at her smile. A smile that could move mountains and cause birds to jump into song. Evenings spent caressing the softness of her skin as we both fought off the calling of our dreams and found belonging in each other's embrace.

Reluctantly, I pull myself from the memories and make my way toward the stairs. I was short on time and couldn't afford to waste too much of it reminiscing. Besides, rosey thoughts wouldn’t change what had happened or even what needed to be done.

I slowly made my way up the stairs, careful not to make a noise. I was unsure if I could even make any noise (I had made it through an unlocked window and half the house without a whisper of a sound), but I didn't want to take any chances.

Moving through the darkness of the house, I made it to the bedroom without issue. The door was ajar, and inside, it looked like a tornado had torn through it. Clothes covered the floor, photos were haphazardly strewn around the room, and paperwork littered the small desk by the window. One of the few papers, graced with enough light from the window, read ‘Death Benefit.’

An angel taken form laid on top of the bedsheets. She beheld beauty that could start wars, end arguments with a bat of the eyes, and, most importantly, spark a fire in my cold heart. And a sense of grace left undisturbed by her messy hair and worn clothes of yesterdays.

I stood staring at her, lost in her freckles and the dried tears connecting them. Lost in the memories of sweet nothings escaping before our minds caught up to our hearts, of gazing into each other's eyes as if they held the secrets of the universe, of late-night whispers of promises unkempt of a future that would never come.

My throat tightened, and the words I wished to say, wanted to say, needed to say got caught up. How could I convey in words things that can only be felt and not spoken? Pull a string of words from my soul that contained all the emotions eating away inside me? I couldn't. . . she was always the one who knew exactly what to say and the right moment to say it. She moved fluidly through the dance of life, and I simply tripped over my feet while following her lead. She was the strong one, and I was the weak one. She lived, and I went off and-

“Please. . . don't give up,” she spoke softly, with reluctance clinging to her words. Her hand grasped her pillow tightly, unwilling to let go. She was still asleep, drifting through a dream. A dream that demands to be heard and refuses to leave. Visiting each night to remind her that even in her dreams, she can't escape reality.

I want to reach out to her, pull her into my arms, and hold her tight. Allow her to find comfort inside my embrace. Let her cry out all her tears and screams of unfairness. I want to, but can't. A single touch would break me, and there are things I need to say before that.

“Isabelle, my dear,” I said, yet nothing left my mouth. This wasn't spoken from my lips. These words came from deep in my soul, reaching out to hers, caressing it with warm softness. “You were always the best part of me. The missing puzzle piece that perfectly fit into place and completed an imperfect man.” Droplets of saltwater form in my eyes and sneak down my cheek. “I know how strong you are. How tightly and stubbornly you hold on to the happiness we once shared. It pains me to see you torn and broken. Adrift between the past and present. You torment yourself by refusing to let go, but darling, please. . . for me. . . allow yourself to be selfish for once and loosen your grip.”

Emotions tore through me like a cascading storm. Leaning over the bed, I bring my lips close to hers. “We told each other ‘till death do us part,’ but I refuse to let that be the end. I will wait for you as long as it takes, there at the end of the River of Life.” Our lips meet, a kiss goodbye, but a promise to meet again. One I would keep this time.

Small pieces of myself began to break away and disappear. It was time for me to go and return to the other side. I kept my eyes on Isabelle as I slowly faded away. A smile was planted firmly on her face.

“I l-” My hearing cut out as Isabelle spoke. The last pieces of myself now glimmered in the moonlight. As the last piece faded out, I felt a small prick in the back of my mind. A feeling of knowing that I'll see her again one day, at the end of the River of Life. And there, I'll finally be able to hold her in my arms and once again be complete.