Black rain pours. Heavy wind blows. I lay my rose on her grave. I feel my eyes begin to misbehave. A soul I could have saved. Guilt fills my heart. I am ashamed. It weakens me, brings me to my knees. Little droplets ambush my eyes, sliding down my cheeks. The rain falling on my face hides my tears. African men dont cry.
The burn scorches my heart with hellish fury. I am tormented.
I pick dirt from her tombstone and watch it muddy my hands. Slime escapes my nostrils. I promised I wouldnt break down, but here I am on my knees. Fighting the conflicted feeling of tears liberating grief and the feeling that tears are a weakness never to be tolerated. I reach inside the breast pocket of my black trench coat. I pull out a picture of her gorgeous face.
Aaargh. Memories come flooding back. I am transported to a different time and place, to the day I first laid eyes upon her. A rare beauty. She had a presence that lit up the room. A smile like the morning sun. Her eyes drew me in the moment my gaze fell upon her. Thunderstruck and robbed of all movement, I just stared. She saw me standing there, pushed a strand of hair back over her ear, smiled shyly and continued going about her business.
Over the next few days I bumped into her at the same trading centre on several occasions. We spoke. A simple hello at first, but it wasnt long before we discovered we were on the same wavelength. That hello turned into full fledged conversations. Long walks back and forth to the river followed. Dancing under the stars. Lying down on grass lawns while watching the black sky of October nights. The blissful ignorance of the innocence of youth.
It was there by the riverside that we first made love and our passion grew. Lost in bliss we felt like our bond was unbreakable.
I take a sip of the moonshine that I brought with me to help me calm my grief. The bitterness inside making it hard to face the world through sober eyes.
It wasnt long before it became obvious that our hopes and dreams would soon pull us apart. I was too much of a simpleton. I wanted a simple quiet life and she wanted the whole world. It wouldnt take a genius to figure out that I couldnt give her the world. The cracks grew. We drifted apart.
He swept her off her feet in chariots of golden fleeces. Diamond rings covered her fingers, emerald necklaces hugged her by the neck and earrings of blood red rubies kissed her soft ears. Her body rested in Egyptian cotton and her feet woke up to persian rugs. Her stilletoes made beautiful music with marble floors. Her knight in shining armour.
With each display of opulence the dullness of my existence became more pronounced. I fast became a very distant memory. It wasnt long before they tied the knot. In my heart I was happy for her but it didnt make it easier for me to let go. Easy for her to forget, but not for me.
Every night I would stare at a picture of her, say good night to it and kiss it before switching off the light and going to bed.
I sit down in front of her grave. Take a cigarette out and try to light it. Oblivious of the heavy rain pouring.
After about a year or two of her marriage I received a strange phone call in the night.
The tone of our conversation was as casual and as innocent as possible. Just old friends catching up. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I had heard the rumours of her big sunglasses and the blue black purpleish marks that appeared on her skin from time to time. I had heard all the rumours of the many sexual conquests of her knight in shining armour, but who was I to intervene?
A choice is a choice, and choices must be respected.
I take a puff and watch the smoke lazily dance in the rain.
A choice is a choice, and choices must be respected, but still I wasnt prepared for what was to follow.
The news came to me while I was in my little garden, watering vegetables and fruits. Tragedy.
Some said she couldnt take it anymore and she had poisoned herself. Some said he poisoned her because he had grown tired of her. He didnt want a divorce since it meant parting with half of his estate. When she voiced her concerns she just drove him closer and closer to his resolve to be done with her. Rumours. They found her in a chair, slouched over the surface of her dressing table. Fact.
It hurts more since a few days before she had poured her heart out to me and all I said was a choice is a choice and choices must be respected.
So today I find myself here, to tell her all the things I should have said but was too much of a coward to say even though I am not one for what ifs. I try to. I start to but all I hear myself saying is goodbye.
I leave the bottle of liquor dejected on the muddy ground, throw the cigarette away, get up and leave with the words I never said unsaid.
The picture of her gorgeous face flies away with the wind, never to return again.
