You are beautiful–the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And true, I’ve loved before, but I’ve never loved like I love you. It was your hazel-auburn eyes that fostered the only warmth my soul has ever known. It was your hair, your lips, the way you moved, as you’ll never know how deeply I love everything about you. From the first time our eyes met, I knew with the greatest of transparency that you were my soul-mate. I adore your voice and cherish your every thought. You are perfect to me in every manner, every dynamic, and you’ll always be the one that got away, the one I’d do anything to see again. I love you, yet, in anguish, it’s here that I reflect.
And unmanned… I was. In the grim defeat of desolateness, quickly I’d be devoured by an intemperance for whiskey and rum. For months I had secluded myself. Though, we’ll commence from this day, where out of seclusion I sat incognito in the final row of a church. Dressed exclusively in all-black, my eyes veiled beneath a black ball cap. And coaked in an unusually burly beard, no facial features could be distinguished. There, I was at a wedding–a wedding that surely I was not invited to. Therein a day I dread would never come: the day the woman I love unconditionally would be getting married–but wouldn’t be marrying me.
Upon that day, time ostensibly froze. The harmonic tones cast upon the room a sentiment of happiness and rejoice that I could not relate to. Within my coat pocket, I grabbed a flask of rum, took a swig–possibly even a few, and watched my definition of amazing and wondrous make her way down the aisle. Slowly, before my eyes, the events began to unfold. The pastor began to speak. My eyes recorded everything, yet my mind, inept, grasped nothing transpiring around me. Tears gradually became apparent and trickled down my cheeks. The words “I do” were exchanged, and the world, to me, there, would never be the same.
Inconspicuously, I bided through all of the events: quiet and, again, secluded to myself. That day, I never saw her so happy–so radiant–so full of joy. The wedding, as oddly to state, was something that I felt I had to take part in. Possibly, I was hoping she would reconsider and cancel the wedding. Maybe, I dreamed someone would scream reasoning of why the two should not be married. Those reveries, however, did not come to fruition. The reception went smoothly throughout, even to the end–where watching as she threw rice climbing into the back seat of a limousine–it was only then that I realized I was saying goodbye to her forever.
Their family and friends began to depart shortly thereafter. I, on the other hand, sat in the last row of the church replaying the moments over and over in my head. She is married–married to another man. It’s over. She is gone–gone forever. As even under the roof of the Lord, no god could save me then. In time, the sun’s descending rays no longer peeked through the stained windows. Soon, I found myself to be the last remaining person from the reception. Eventually, a janitor entered; I stood up slowly and inelegantly when he did. Because already drunken, what was I really supposed to do? I took the final gulp from my flask, dropped it, staggered past him, and proceeded to my car.
At length, through an eerie order of darkness, it was there I sat in my driver seat defeated, deflated, and empty, wherein reflection of thought, staring into the rearview mirror and into the reflection of my soul. A magnum .345 pistol reposed upon my lap. My eyes were glossy, red, and dry. My lips were numb, and my body in entirety was warm from the rum. I stared into my eyes for a time that could not be measured. I talked to God–The Devil. Though, after much deliberation, I placed the barrel of the .345 to my temple. I peered through the rearview mirror and drew the trigger. Instantly I was dead–.
And now, still, it’s hard to decipher between the two: was it to the displeasing of the heavens, or was it a sentence from hell? That I may never know, but seemingly for what may be an eternity, I have been a soul trapt, lost in another dimension, in the same world, but another realm. There, in a galaxy of mirrors, it’s here that my soul resides. As now, within every mirror you could ever entertain or fathom of gazing into, I have access to consume its portal. Think of an extended maze of long corridors with mirrors acting as entrances to another set of mirrors. The corridors are endless. The mirrors likely register in the billions: from bathrooms to family rooms, our vehicles, to planes, I can enter into any mirror of my fancy.
Initially, I was perplexed and unsure of the actuality of my existence, the difference between reality and life, the difference between heaven and hell. But now, to in the state I am, as similar to an apparition or a phantom of sorts, my soul carries no external representation, wherein I am transparent to even myself. I have no voice, no touch, no need to sleep–nearly non-existent of all human characteristics, but I can, however, move, perceive, and emotionally, I can feel. For the first month, I was perturbed and lost in this new world as the coping of my death was still very evident. I was in denial that the end had really come.
For months, I wandered endlessly from mirror to mirror one after another in search for familiarity, friends, family, but mainly for her. In due course, after several million portals had been searched I found family member by family member and friend after friend, yet, still, she could not be located. Periodically, I would peek into the portals of my family member’s residences. It ached me, however, every time: perceiving the sorrow, the gloom, the void that I left in each of their lives. As time slowly became too onerous to quantify (wherein the proximity of two and three years of searching) eventually she was found, and I, myself, had found a home. Her golden hazel eyes were still full of unabating radiance and energy. Her smile continued to gleam and light up every room she entered. Amazement and rapture occupied my being with every word she spoke. Plainly, in the essence of her and with all that her soul embodied, to me, made her the most beautiful woman–the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
The man she married I never saw. I concluded a separation was the reasoning behind. She still, however, remained full of love and full of contentment. Quotidianly, with no matter where she went I would follow her: from her office to her cooking and dancing in the kitchen while entertaining her nephews and nieces, to even at night while she slept (like a fly on the wall) I was always there watching her. Wherein a dream come true–and as I had always envisioned–she, daily, was the entirety of my life.
Though, even through the brightest of days, dark nights still inevitably appear–. Through many holidays and many years, one night her bearing seemed dispirited and worn. She entered her room, locked the door, and tears began to flow. I watched her sit in Indian style on the floor as she opened a shoebox. Slowly she removed pieces of paper from within its cavity. Instantly, I knew what those papers were. They were all of the love letters through the years that I had written her. One by one, she read letter after letter. Streaming tears began to accumulate as her heart broke before me. I wanted to scream and tell her it would all be okay, but it was to no avail. I could not interact with the living, as I, there, was limited to watching her soul plea for comfort through the inflictions of my selfish decisions. I never wanted to be the reason for her sorrow.
The years went by, and she never got remarried, nor ever engaged in any relations. Through the years she aged like fine wine. She was beloved by all in the neighborhood, attended church frequently, and sustained a passion and drive for helping any that she could. Inside and out, she was the perfect human being. Some days, she would look into the mirror with hesitation, doubt, and insecurities. I yearned I was able to tell her how beautiful she looked. For even into old age, frail, with wrinkles, and gray hair, she still was stunningly from the widest of arrays the most beautiful woman alive.
Yet, it is for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. One day, where gloomy and unusually cold around the world it was, ice frosted upon the windows all throughout town, silence blanketed the streets in a sheet of snow, and the world again seemingly froze, as my lover’s heart, on that day, beat no more. My soul encountered a new void and was enveloped by an indefatigable depression. I was broken, dejected, my heart shattered as before my eyes, instantly, with the disappearing beat of a heart, I saw my heaven turn into an eternal hell.
For she is gone–gone forever!–as only God can save me now with my angel sitting in the heavens. Though, ceaseless, with an eternity that has already passed, I have and likely will remain this soul trapt in a realm of mirrors while in constant search–searching for her from another dimension into any world, every galaxy–searching for wherever her soul may rest. With this, here, being of a perpetual voyage, my soul has seen billions upon trillions of people, yet, to me, she is still the most beautiful woman–the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen. And to date, within this hell of her absence, forever I will be in search for my angel–in search for the one I’d do anything to see again. I love you, yet, in anguish, it’s here that I reflect.