A Twific Reviews drizzle.
The prompt: "It's never too late to be who you might have been." ~George Eliot
I got a call today.
What she said took me back to that weekend we spent in the mountains. Snuggled up in front of the fire, you told me to reach for the stars, let nothing hold me back, not even you. I argued that you were the brightest star in my life, and you laughed, telling me I was deluded.
Leaning back into the curve of your neck, I knew that my life was with you wherever it took us. The needs of the one were outnumbered by the needs of the two. I had no life without you in it; you were the sun around which my world revolved. Your warmth of spirit, your generosity and your endless capacity for love were what shaped me, made me strong. I was at peace when I was in your arms.
The weather had turned, and it snowed hard that first night. We didn't care; the real world slipped away as we made long, languorous love in front of the crackling fire. The sounds of pleasure you made beneath me were the perfect music to my ears and I needed no other. To me, your gasps and moans were more cherished than even the beauty of Debussy; eliciting each sound from you was like discovering the perfect melody over and over again. Hearing my name fall from your perfect lips was pure poetry as I loved you with my mouth, my body, my soul. Our kisses would've made Venus herself weep as our tongues worshipped each other, each indelibly claiming the other. And when I lay beneath you I knew there was nowhere I would rather be; heaven was here on earth as your hard body moved rhythmically with mine, your eyes professing your love for me eternally as we breathed each others' air and reached for the stars together.
You felt you were holding me back, stopping me from being what I was destined to be. I told you that fate decided my destiny the day I met you. For some reason this made you sad, as you believed that our meeting had stunted my ambition and made me settle for less than I was worth. We fought a little about that and I told you repeatedly that my life was with you, belonged to you. Before we met, my piano was an escape from reality, a way to disappear deep into myself. I had no need of that now. I played only for pleasure. You were scared; scared that you wouldn't be enough me for me and that I would resent you for holding me back. How wrong you were. You inspired me, became my muse, and I wrote so many pieces all dedicated to you and my overwhelming love for you.
I only wrote that letter because you insisted, and because I would do anything to make you happy and see that smile that lit up my life. I never expected a response. It was unthinkable, as was the thought of ever leaving you. But you made me promise and so I did.
I will be joining the symphony on their next tour, Jasper. I got the confirmation letter today and I was desperate to tell you, knowing how happy and proud you would be of me, my love.
But I got a call today.
"Edward, this is Kate from the hospice. I'm so very sorry but your husband passed away during the night. Jasper's at peace now."
Noisy, wrenching sobs escape me as I fall to the floor, my world collapsing. I wasn't there with you, and now I never can be again. You never told me how sick you were until it was too late, and I couldn't care for you all by myself. And now, somehow, I have to go on without you. I promised you, and I will never forget that promise.
Goodnight, my beautiful Texan. Our music will live on with me forever.
I promise you.