Grace - The midnight murmurs epilogue

 I still hear her heels on the hardwood floors we installed not long ago. Those very same floors we couldn’t afford but splurged because love was an intoxicating drug. And we blinded. Regardless, I’ve never given it enough thought to understand if I regret the purchase. The only thought that seemed to captivate my mind was a sense of loneliness. Or how crucial her laugh was to my existence. Her perfume still stains her pillow, although I haven’t had the heart to set foot in our bedroom, to savour her signature scent, Chanel Coco, I got her.

Nevertheless, the memory is still vivid in my mind. It almost subdues it, urging the tears I hold behind my eye’s curtains to spill uncontrollably. I’m certain it was our 3rd anniversary, and we were finally doing well for ourselves. A step closer to the eternal financial freedom that we o’ so desired. I remember how overwhelmed her face looked. Her excitement was barely disguised behind her face of modesty. I knew she would be a tad bit upset at the price I paid for her present. But, in my eyes, every penny was worth it. Although the night’s moon illuminated her eyes. Making it hard to argue against her, to justify my actions. Like gems, they seemingly always attracted light. It was the world’s idea of portraying how internally ambitious and optimistic she used to be. That night seems so long ago, despite it being relatively young on the calendar.

evertheless, the memory is still vivid in my mind. It almost subdues it, urging the tears I hold behind my eye’s curtains to spill uncontrollably. I’m certain it was our 3rd anniversary, and we were finally doing well for ourselves. A step closer to the eternal financial freedom that we o’ so desired. I remember how overwhelmed her face looked. Her excitement was barely disguised behind her face of modesty. I knew she would be a tad bit upset at the price I paid for her present. But, in my eyes, every penny was worth it. Although the night’s moon illuminated her eyes. Making it hard to argue against her, to justify my actions. Like gems, they seemingly always attracted light. It was the world’s idea of portraying how internally ambitious and optimistic she used to be. That night seems so long ago, despite it being relatively young on the calendar.

Nevertheless, the memory is still vivid in my mind. It almost subdues it, urging the tears I hold behind my eye’s curtains to spill uncontrollably. I’m certain it was our 3rd anniversary, and we were finally doing well for ourselves. A step closer to the eternal financial freedom that we o’ so desired. I remember how overwhelmed her face looked. Her excitement was barely disguised behind her face of modesty. I knew she would be a tad bit upset at the price I paid for her present. But, in my eyes, every penny was worth it. Although the night’s moon illuminated her eyes. Making it hard to argue against her, to justify my actions. Like gems, they seemingly always attracted light. It was the world’s idea of portraying how internally ambitious and optimistic she used to be. That night seems so long ago, despite it being relatively young on the calendar.

Every morning, I wake up believing it was merely a nightmare and that she would be snuggled up right next to me under the covers. For those few minutes, I feel at peace. I think hope graces me with its presence until I turn over and realise I’m not even in our bedroom… that, like many other nights, I’ve passed out in the living room, surrounded by memories upon shelves that taunt me. Accompanied by the stench of bourbon and cheap cigarettes. If she was here, she would have been furious, furious to see me, or rather the man I have become. Or rather lack thereof.

It’s the same every morning, my eyes bloodshot, I stink of sorrow and Chinese takeout, the same place we used to order in, all the time when rent was due. Those nights we sat on the hardwood floors, pondering if maybe carpets would have been the better choice, watching HBO embracing our young, dumb and broke choices. Although, it was challenging to regret anything when you share the memories with someone irreplaceable. Their presence alone persuading your mind to believe in illusions. My mind is polluted with ideas stringed on torn treads, and subconsciously I hope I act on one of them. I can’t bear another moment of this torment. It is parasitic like. Feeding on everything within and around me, devouring any strength and hope I have of continuing.

She loved me because I was resilient, unwilling to admit to any adversaries, even though she was there like a Valkyrie to uplift me when I had fallen. But now she dines at Valhalla, awaiting my presence. Her absence ignites a sudden abhor to life itself. I stand up, tumbling over bottles of liquor that professedly caused my state of deliriousness and rage. I rain tyranny upon the entire room, causing carnage against all that reminds me of her. In which the irony is rancid.

I find myself with a pistol to my mind, my eyes pouring, tears that felt like acid on my dry, chapped skin. All I hear is her voice, her last words, her first words…the memories of us. The gun tightly pasted to my palm, jittering over my knee in mental agony. I know I won’t pull the trigger, not today at least. I know she wouldn’t want me to. So maybe that’s the excuse to canvas my true weakness and suffer another day, reliving this moment.

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All I’m left with are the murmurs of midnight…