I stole a glance at Blake again as the old man’s hand slipped from mine. The warmth of his touch faded fast, replaced by a cold ache.
“Love isn’t for the weak, my love. You have to fight for it.”
He winked, folded his paper, and placed a hat over his thinning grey hair. He walked away humming a tune I hadn’t heard since I was a little girl.
My grandfather used to hum that same song to my grandmother as they sat hand in hand, watching the sun disappear behind the hills. A love story that stood the test of time. One my soul begged the writer in me to write.
I sent a message to Blake.
Even though he was only meters away.
Even though I could still smell him, still feel the heat of him.
He was my sun. I was his moon.
So why did he want to throw me away? Throwusaway?
A question I asked with no answer ever given.
I still remember the look on your face the night I said ‘I love you’ for the first time.
You were lit by the full moon, your features soft and shadowed.
It was 12:58 a.m.
I whispered those words into the air between us, sitting on the cliff’s edge as whitewash waves crashed below.
The sky was grey, the sea stormy.
And you whispered back, “I’ve loved you since the first day you looked at me. I’ll love you forevermore.”
So why did you go? Why did you leave me?
I placed my phone face up on the bar in front of me, heart hammering, pulse wild. A cold sweat traced the length of my spine. Why was I so nervous?
He was my husband.
Yet… we felt like strangers.
His phone buzzed behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned to pick it up.
A sigh slipped from his lips. His shoulders sagged.
As if my name on the screen irritated him.
I held my breath.
He cleared his throat, flipped the dish rag over his shoulder, and placed the phone screen-down on the counter. Without reading it. Without responding.
He walked away.
From the bar. From me. From the message.
It was a slap in the face to the woman who knew all his secrets. All his dreams.
The same woman who helped him keep all his dreams safe in the worn-out back pocket of his favourite denim jeans.
