I once imagined that I would meet you on a moonlit shore. The soft night breeze will whistle among the palms and rhu leaves with whispers of promises yet to be fulfilled. A pregnant moon will be our witness; Selene casting her silvery gaze upon the doings of mortals aeons untold. You would offer your hand—I will accept—and together we will run to the water's edge. The little wavelets will lap our feet with salty splashes to join the night's cool breath. Your quicksilver smile tugs the strings you've once bound me in. Like Samson shorn, I followed in your wake. By your breath and your words, would I have spoken. Your wounds became my scars. Your mystique became my own. A reflection I became, mirroring your movements—my dark to your light.
I imagined that our nights will never end. That the little cove we made ours would remain untouched by the coming dawn—as we willed it to be.
We forgot that even the strongest of wills are still victims to the frailties of flesh.
I've imagined that despite the sifting sands that marks our passing we would endure. I imagined that an Eden could still exist even if only for a while. I've imagined that my searching hands would messy themselves in your hair. Little nibbles of thoughts that later became words to forge the promises we made—now never to be realized. I imagined that you're probably shaking your head at my refusal to let go. It should be easy for you; you were the one who left me behind. I imagined our little cove is now silent. No more laughter. No more paired footprints to mark the sand. No quicksilver smiles or words to echo.
I imagined in your passing your mystique became my own brand. I became a lone soldier carrying your badge. I imagined that those memories are armour to grant me fortitude and protection. I wear it proud as grief and joy mingled as one.
And I know that I could survive anything.
