A Haunting Happiness
Let this be brief as I have but one hand to type with. My other is broken, smashed into a metal door out of which I’d rather believe was anger,though grief was the more probable cause. The resulting drug prescribed, by those whose job it is to pity rather than censor, Hydrocodone, more commonly referred to as Vicodin, would numb the pain in my hand, while clawing viciously into my heart. I don’t know why after 4 years I should still be haunted by the apparition of a woman who still lives. I loved her fiercely, and had more then her consent I had her heart. But there is a time set aside in a mans life when he may love or be loved. I’d prefer to think that the intensity of our affections had not expired my time so soon, that once after a period of mourning her loss I would do as man does best….many other women. This, however, has not been my story. Had I even found a girl to love me, I could as I feel, not return it.
Her name is Morgan, she’s artist of the abstract with emphasis on colors rather than forms. She lives as the ant, happily working toward her goals to ensure that her future and dreams are one and the same. How I ever fit into those plans or her heart is still a mystery to me. Though we have officially been dating since February, I know that we are friends. I’ve no complaints of her or the lack of romance in my life, but under the sedation of drugs I am visited by the ghost of the one I loved. I’ve not actually seen or spoken to her since leaving Texas 4 yars ago. This was one of her 2 last requests to me,the latter being that I forget that she ever existed,which is ideal though not altogether possible.
The reason for my departure from Texas had more to so with my father’s retirement than it did with her husband’s outrage upon reading our treasonous e-mails. It hurt to be second to him even though I had the monopoly on her heart even sitting there solemnly in the church on her wedding day. Then one night at her place while watching a movie in her husband’s absence she began to cry as she begged me not to move with my family to Missouri. She had drank nothing that night. It was I who found bitterness at the bottom of the bottle. She said she wouldn’t forgive me if I left even after I promised to visit. Her broken heart that night would seem strong and whole when her emotions would be explained the next morning by a pregnancy test. There was no test needed to be certain that the child of the woman I love was not mine, but it didn’t stop me from wishing that he was.
When I dream of her, sometimes she comes out of nowhere and greets me with a smile. Sometimes I see her at a distance and never find a voice to speak. Her husband and son are there happily with their wife and mother. As in real life he has forgiven me, and is in the dream she will never be mine. Her happiness haunts me, and I don’t know why. I have decided to forget her and move on. There are now weeks that pass when she doesn’t even cross my mind. When she does I do not permit her to loiter, but in my dreams I am held captive by a love in her eyes that no actress can feign.It was the way she once looked at me, only now her eyes are for him. Rebekah McCormick God speed you from my heart.