I woke up crying today to cold and fog. When I look out the window, it seems like my eyes have been fixed by some miracle. Everything is blurry so it looks clear to me. Faded. Gray.
I had been waiting. I was by the water, with it to my left. There were hills in front of me, and buildings on the hill. Old stairs led up along the bright green grass from where I sat. Large and Ivy covered, the main building looked like it belonged to parliment. Bill was sailing, and I had been waiting for a long time, warm, in the wind. I had begun to imagine hearing his laughter, as I looked around for the boat coming in.
Cheerfully, I gave up, and decided to go on to other things for the day, meet back with him later. I started up the stairs, away from the water. When even with the building, I walked on the grass, towards stairs that would bring me to the top of the next tier. The grass was vivid – green. Bright sticky summer colours. The stairs were old, cracked cement with lions at the foot. I put a swing in my bag as I walked. Cheerfully, like a child. Comforting familiarity drifted from every step of the way.
At the top of the stairs were people, mostly sitting in rows, with a path through the middle, beginning at the stairs. There were many and they were just sitting, enjoying the view of the water, and the wind. The sun was shining on these rows of happy people, and as I passed one, I saw it was Bill. He perhaps caught me out of the corner of his eye. His long hair and his red clothing caught at my heart with a snag. How long had he been back and not come to get me? He had obviously forgotten, as he was in easy conversation with someone, and not troubled at all though he knew I had been waiting for him. In a fit of pique, I decided to continue walking, to pay no mind and ignore him. Just about then, my swinging bag got away from me. In my surge of emotion, I had been swinging the bag harder, and it flew from my hand – a pale parabolic arc through the air. It hit next to a man who looked quite surprised, but otherwise unconcerned. Embarrassedly running to it, I picked it up and turned.
Pain, hurt. The woman he had been talking to was a dancer. She was up, moving with him. He was smiling, enthralled. As she moved, he came up behind her and held her, his eyes closed and thier heads came together. He loved her. I died.