Libre Magazine

I look at her, and think. I have been sitting here for over an hour. She hasn’t looked up once. She hasn’t acknowledged my presence. She doesn’t recognize me. She can’t.

It is not easy to come to terms with. That real is not real for her anymore; that my world is not hers anymore; that she is not mine anymore.

I’m tired. Of trying to make sense of it all. And getting nowhere. Why, I wonder, does it have to be me? Or her? Or anyone at all?

Will it ever go away? I ask him. It makes him frown. And makes me want to laugh. The futility of it all.

So I laugh. He gives me a strange look. But he is patient. And compassionate. And clueless.

I’m torn. Between hope and despair. She’s confused. Between real and unreal.

The struggle. Is inside and out. The pain. Is mine … and mine alone.

How can he understand any of it? Though he is patient.

I walk slowly. To her. I sit down quietly. With her. In her tiny room. The room with white walls. The room with white sheets. The room. White.

She raises her head. She looks at me. No. Through me.

A lone tear escapes her eye. And burns a trail down my cheek. Is she in pain? Or is it me?

I want to hold her now, as she held me once. Kiss her gently on her forehead, as she did me. But the haze that clouds her eyes. The haze that surrounds her being. Separates us.

Before the woman comes along. The woman who wears a stern face and bears a stern voice. To tell me it is time. Will I see a spark from the past? Sigh. Maybe not. Maybe tomorrow. Is tomorrow another day?

I wish. I want. But I know.

What am I doing here? She knows me not. No more, anyway.

Though I know her.

Have I abandoned her? To the mercy of the stern voices. And the white walls? When the walls in my home are warm.

But she doesn’t know the difference. Though I do.

I close my eyes. Squeeze them tightly. Keep them closed, whispers a voice inside my head.

I open them quickly.

She looks on strangely for a moment. As if reading my dilemmas. Then she smiles. Soothingly. Like warm sunshine. And she raises her hand. To touch my cheek. Oh.

Suddenly, she looks pained. And clutches her heart. She squeezes her eyes shut for a second and opens them with effort. She sees the alarm in my eyes. And smiles. I smile back – the eye sees not what the heart chooses to deny.

The crisp, stern voice speaks. I have to go.

I hug her tightly. Taking the warmth of her being with me. To the comfort of my home. Where she once smiled many warm smiles for me. Where she lived and loved. Where she laughed. Hugged. Talked.

The comfort of my home…where she no longer lives. And silence prevails.

Though her fragrance lingers.

I am sad. The night is dark. And long. I can’t wait. I call him. He is patient… and unrelenting. I wait.

As darkness lifts, light rays filter through thin net curtains. I pull on a coat. I pick up the keys. Run a hand through my hair. And step out.

I rush. Through the white corridor. I barge in. Through the white door. I stare. At the white bed. Crisp. Neat. Empty.

The white walls begin to close in on me. I take a deep breath. And a cloud seems to lift.

In the comfort of the white room, where she no longer lives…her fragrance lives on…