Today, I am going to die.
I made the bed in the morning. I haven't done that since another pair of hands were here to help pull the sheets up. I cooked a proper meal and ate every last bite. I haven't done that since there were two mouths here to feed. I even went to the meadow in the late morning and picked fresh wildflowers. The green stems have been bejeweled for months now, yet I have not been to the fields since they bloomed in early spring. I gently laid the freshly plucked flowers on the wooden table next to my lonesome breakfast plate.
The trees of the forest cocooning our cabin gathered in a waltz to the graceful tune of birdsongs. Rarely did we see another soul this deep into the forest. Although occasionally, our path would cross with distant neighbors when they ventured into a nearby trailhead. They're kind and respectful folk, always waving with gleeful smiles as they pass along. Hopefully today, such a magnificently warm and dreamy midsummer day, they won't be up for a hike.
I brushed and braided my hair. I haven't done that since I last tried teaching you to plait. I remember how your broad hands weaved through my wavy brunette locks with a careful tenderness, as though each strand was gilded with gold. After securing my hair into a lengthy braid, I put on that red sundress you always gloated about. You gushed about how the fabric follows my every movement like a dance, like a fresh poppy swaying in the field. You begged me to promise that you would be the one to twirl me around in this dress every time I put it on, and the only one to ever unhook it.
I kept my side of the bargain.
I dug into the bedside drawer and pulled out my final picture of you, preserved like a priceless archive. There were no vengeful tears or bends in the thick, glossy film. As I glided my hand across the silky veneer, I could still feel the brisk January air fossilized in the frame. The cotton candy skies enveloped your tall frame and the distant forest into midnight blue silhouettes. Upon the horizon, the waves of the lake stood frozen in soft, periwinkle ripples, caressing your form forevermore.
I rummaged deeper through the drawer, my hand burrowing beneath a pile of mementos and letters until my fingers caught the rim of the ring. I still giggle thinking back to your poor detective skills, how I played along like a mother with her child as you measured my finger with a piece of yarn. The thin band of plated gold and dainty diamonds still shone as fresh as the day you revealed the token to me.
I lifted the ring to feel the cold metal cut against my chapped lips. I could never wear it on my left hand again. In fact, it would be more fitting — perhaps more dignifying — to chop off my left hand than to wear another ring ever again. Instead, I slipped the gold band onto a slender chain and clasped the necklace around my throat, a vow I never conceded.
I stepped outside again into the cheerful summer day, adorned now with a new charm necklace. The birds never relinquished their praises, still filling the forest's silence. I reached once more for the bunch of flowers resting on the table. They were beginning to look weak and thirsty, unlike when I first picked them that morning. I worked quickly, yet delicately, weaving their mushy stems together into a crown. When the tangled stems fit together as one around my head, I slid it on like a fragrant halo. I felt like Mother Earth herself for a moment. But it wasn't enough.
How dare they speak of this so carelessly? How dare they treat the heart so recklessly? The word itself feels like ripping away a layer of blistered skin. It doesn't deserve tangibility. And yet, my heart is still open, sliced and burning from the salt poured into it.
Let go, they say, let it go. But in their utterances, I only hear, let it happen, just let it happen. That's what you would tell me in our most loving moments, when it was mere skin-on-skin in this teeth-on-teeth world.
Just let it happen.
I began walking into the mouth of the forest. I walked and I walked, far enough to ensure nobody would find me. Yet if they do, they will find a ring around my neck and the ripples of a lake clenched between my blue fingers. And as my feet began to drag through the soft earth, aching with exhaustion, I began to wonder if the bees would drink up the nectar from my halo once I planted myself in the dirt.
Between the suffocating walls of endless foliage and trees, I imagined you were next to me, as if it were nothing more than a leisurely stroll. I would have reached over to you, to say: If you were a strong man, brave enough to bear the burden of mercy, you would know that peace is simple and cruelty is demanding. If you were a strong man, brave enough to survive the burden of bitterness, your heart would be open, too. Then you would be atoned.
Birdsongs clashed in unison from the canopies overhead as I fell to the forest floor, my shaking body finally cradled and held. I couldn't tell whether the aria was pleasant or utter chaos. Amidst the fervor, I gathered but one thing: My soul was yours for the taking. It still is.
