I spent the long hours of fading sun searching for you. In the shafts of light that cast shadows on the walls. Like dancing ghosts, phantoms of a life so long ago. I could smell the dew, freshly birthed on the crest of the new morn, wafting in from the crack in the window. The splinted old glass covered in cobwebs. Hazing the world just beyond the pane. But that’s all the world was behind the thick and dusty glass. An illusion. A specter. A reel of memories looping on replay.
            And they haunt me. So deeply haunt me.
            No matter the time that passes, some ghosts never fade away.

We met in the autumn, under a sea of scarlet leaves. We breathed in the decay on the wind, the fading light of summer, giving way to winter’s cruel teeth. Nipping the night air. How beautiful it all had been. A world caught ablaze in nature’s finest wonders. You told me you loved me then, in the milk light of the harvest moon. How I knew you meant it. The star fall reflecting in your eyes spoke celestial words. Invocations from godly forces of a world beyond our own. And I knew it was true. Every whisper and smile.
            I love you…
            I kept the autumn close to my heart. Though the decaying leaves brushed up against my doorstep, lingering with the stench of death, I found life in each of your steps. We hid away from the world, under a canopy of trees, making wishes on acorns and toadstools. You told me you wanted to be forever. That you saw eternity burning deep in my eyes. And you swore you’d never leave my side.
            And you kept your promise. Even when the nights grew colder and the first blanket of snow reached my porch.

Through the frost and the never-melting ice, you kept me warm. You sang graces of spring, huddled up beside me, watching the night. How dark and endless the skies were. But freckled in tiny, flecks of cosmic light. That very light that caught in your eyes months before.
            The light I still search for in these very walls.
            The snow lay heavy that first year, painting white the branches of our sanctuary. We counted each of the crystal snowflakes as they fell from the skies. Silent, but still, I could hear the melody. The breath on the wind. And deeper in love I fell. Lost in your eyes, and under sheets of snow.

You were the first to point out the blossoms in the spring; sprouting from beneath the ice and the cold. We listened for the return of birds, the faint shafts of mid-afternoon light. The evening became longer and the air soft and fresh. We waited on the porch, watching technicolor sunsets. The horizon endless. Free.
            And at dawn, you planted cherry blossom kisses across my skin. Soft and beautiful. But so very short lived. Brushed away by the breeze. The spring always had been so short lived. Just as autumn had. As quickly as death crept upon the branches in the late November, so did new life.
            The Earth bled green. Blending in with the mossy tones of your eyes.

We hid away from the summer sun, back beneath the old trees of the wood. Only, there was no scarlet to be found. Just the endless velvet canopy of green—lively and fair. Beneath the old oak, we sang songs of eternity. Of life and love. And we ran barefoot to the forest streams, letting the cool water lap at our toes. Dreaming of wee folk, hidden in the ferns, ivy, and clover.
            How long those days were. Fading in and out in the unbearable heat. You’d laugh and tell me how you longed for autumn. That chill on the breeze, and all the world to sink back to the heart of harvest.
            But for me, no matter the season, I found my peace late at night, in your room. Bathed in moonlight. Nestled up against you, beneath blankets, lost in the rhythm of your breath and heartbeat.

When autumn finally broke, we took to the attic. We made friends with our shadows on the wall, dancing in the late afternoon light—setting the world outside ablaze in gold and amber. We recounted our blessings, promises of forever. Wed, even if only for pretend, by the spiders, spinning salutations in their silver webs. How brightly they shined, captivated in cascading glimmers from the crack in the window. The window that overlooked the rest of the world. Slowly and silently fading. Leaving in an inferno of nature’s finest beauty.
            But for us, in the safety of the attic, life went on. Over chipped teacups and stale biscuits, we laughed. Rejoicing in the beauty the year had given us. The love, so deep and sure. I had been so sure…

I should have caught it then. In winter’s approach. When the days became longer and darkness prowled the earth. The bitter chill of the night air pierced daggers. And for the first time, the coldness gnawed deeper than the surface. Striking the bone. The heart. A coldness that never seemed to go away. Not even in the brightest rays of spring and summer sun.
            The ice had simply grown too thick.
            The skies, too black.
            And I never found starlight again in your eyes.

The following autumn, in a gust of leaves, you vanished. There was no strain of pleading, no harsh words to display. Instead, there was silence. And the most bitter truth to swallow. The truth of a thousand lies—painted so perfectly on porcelain lips. On lover’s tongues.
            I love you…
            Beautiful words become weapons when sharpened just right. When aimed so direct to the heart. Yet, perhaps even more so when they drop like missiles. Not only on your ears, your heart, your lips… But on others’, as well. Destruction. Deception. Betrayal.
            And just like that, you were gone.

I watched through that attic window, as the seasons changed, year after year. Watching the rain droplets collect in the splinter of broken glass every spring. And your melody, the heavy breath of light and life, echoed off the walls. Capturing every spec of sunlight. A kaleidoscope of beauty. Of love.
            But that sunlight had been taken. Ripped from the wallpaper. Hidden from the world.
            Your shadow still lives here, though. Dancing along the panels. Caught up in the spider webs.
            I still brew our favorite tea and serve it in our chipped china. Sometimes, I set a cup out for you—for your ghost—should it feel the need for warmth again. For comfort. For a time where promises were more than hollow words.
            Yes, I still see you. Your reflection still haunts the dusty glass. Shattered, splintered, broken. It doesn’t go away. It never will go away.

But, it’s not your smile that returns the winter chill. Nor is it the shifting of shadows. The resonance of old words. For no matter how dirty the glass, how dark and cloudy the skies, part of me still swears…
            Faintly. Distant. I see light in your eyes.

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