Lovers in Spring, Strangers in Summer

Inside the simple words I write is a glimpse of an untold love story and hope for a life that will never become a reality. The path that leads to my heart is littered with flowers of every kind, each holds memories of the life we’ve lived. I am the enchanter held under his own curse that binds me to her and on the sands of this path, only her footprints exist. As I wait for spring to bring color to this path, I retrace the journey that subjected me to this life. A small smile on my lips as I remember the first day we met. The sun glistening on her chocolate skin and brown eyes boring into mine from across the road before shyly turning away. Knowing that I was a time traveler trapped in a loop of time, reliving the same moments over and over again, I should have known better. We were just two strangers in this vast universe and I should have kept it that way but I didn’t. Marianne had ignited flames emotions that were simply not enough to feel, evoked feelings in me that had to be expressed and like a flower emerging to kiss light for the first time, our love bloomed in the sun. There was no time for games. We dived into it without thought to what tomorrow would bring. All that mattered was having her in my arms, stroking the fiery fire of love in her eyes and reveling in the peace I found in her arms. The scent of lilies on her skin assailing my nose, promising me a future we could never have.

I dared to wander down a path knowing happily ever after would not be waiting for us at the end of the trail. A stubborn heart defiling nature, ours is a tragic love in which we will never experience growing old together but in the lapse of time, this love is continuously rewritten. Each spring, the clock restarts and I pursue her once more. Everything is a first for her and I’m the one stuck with memories of times she never knew she lived. The end of spring draws near and as her memories fade, so do I. Time transports me to the corner of the earth and I rush to meet her by the road to restart our love story. Sometimes, I wish I were a dandelion being carried off by the wind straight to my beloved’s doorstep. Then I would not tarry like a cactus flower striving to maintain beauty among thorns and dry soil.

Summer, autumn and winter know the misery that my existence has become, drifting on this path, waiting to reawaken in Spring. Last autumn left a trail of crisp dry leaves that the early cold winter wind blew off into the unknown future and replaced the unpredictable weather with fierce cold that made rabbits dig deeper into the sand. The path to my heart unwinds and the sharp thorns of winter poke the soles of my feet. The harsh cold has eaten away the radiance of the rose and its stem that once protruded from the ground with unparalleled pride is bent over and dry. I hold the twig in my head and I wonder how she is doing. I pray she is tucked in bed and dreaming instead of being wearied by the toils of life. Once again, the pain of her watching me as I fade away into nothingness before time rewinds threatens to tear me apart.

 Last winter, I planted Lenten rose next to my window and every winter morning, I check to see if it’s about to bloom. A symbol of rebirth and the early signal for spring, I long for Marianne. I wait like the dry earth waiting for the first drop of rain, patiently and impatiently, with deep thirst than only she can quench. Maybe this is what love sometimes is, waiting…  The root of my love grows deeper and her position in my heart is solidified. As I wait and go over the memories, I learn patience and I learn to appreciate what we have. The demarcation of life with and without her is clear. I never want to live in the time where she isn’t a part of me and with love comes hope.

 Sometimes that hope wears thin and I’m left clinging onto the strings of past memories which imprinted her name onto my heart. Her presence is like a shadow that follows me everywhere. Traces of her flowery scent hang in the air and the sweet smile on her beautiful face is written all over nature. The field of flowers next to this road is a monument with subtle parts of her expressed in it. I see Marianne holding our baby for the first time in the face of the Camellia. The Pieris Japonica, with its white and pink flowers remind me of the warmth of her embrace on a Sunday afternoon. The scent of peppermint leaves assails my nose, the taste of her lips. I wish to skate in the snow and kiss her as the sun rises on a winter morning. Dandelions fly past me and in the aftermath, I reminisce the days it all began. Careless youngsters jumping into the sea of love with reckless abandon and unparalleled courage. Against all the voices that told us that our love could never be, we met…. we happened and we still happen every spring. Under the Jacaranda tree on a park bench with the purple flowers falling around us, she claimed my lips and sealed our fate. I will always be hers. My eyes land on the leucojum, the snow flake flower symbolizing purity, innocence and the memory of youth. The grass is still a sickly green and wrinkled by the cold of the snow but the blooming of the English primrose gives me hope. It’s the first sign of spring and with its wide range of colors, it brings my world to life. Spring is near. I am going home to Marianne. My Marianne.

 A strong wind blows from the west carrying with it pollen and petals. The clock ticks in the background carting me off to a white lounge. For a while, all is silent and I stand transfixed by the sight of a blooming tulip. It’s pink petals too light for the deep love that the flower represents. The sound of the piano pierces the silence and a sudden warmth fills the room. Our daughter giggles and runs into my unbelieving arms. She cannot understand why I can’t hold back the tears. I look up and my eyes lock into Marianne’s. She mouths I love you and I tell myself that if this is a figment of my imagination, I will cry myself to sleep for a week. Her smile and the joy that radiates from her brightens the room, filling up my heart and that is how I know that we are no longer trapped in a loop. She stands up from the piano and walks towards me with outstretched arms. Within her arms, I am finally home, embracing our past, present and future. Parts of myself scattered in our memories and sides to me that only she knows merge with hers and for once, I am thoroughly content. I have traveled a long way and endured untold troubles to get here. The journey was not easy but which love that is valuable is free from sacrifice and adversity? The tiny steps we made and that leap of faith in the face of the unknown led us here. I don’t care what changed, I only care about what happens from now on. Maybe the future will have us lying on a crooked bed with your head full of grey hair on my bony chest, your knitting basket on the floor next to a rocking chair and our house strangely too quiet in the absence of our grandchildren. On that day, I will kiss your hand with wrinkled lips worn out from your kisses and thank God for a life that was well lived. Love always finds a way through the maze of time, memories, pain and joy. We were lovers in the spring and strangers in the summer. It’s a love story our descendants will retell to their children but now Spring is here and with it comes a new beginning.