Friday, April 15, 2011

The Last Breath

Sunlight strained through the colored cling wrap as if it were a stained glass window, discoloring the worn floor into shades of red and blue. I watched as his long fingers and comforting arms changed in hue. First pink and then a washed out blue. His hair hung limp, hiding the angles of his face, as he worked. The white rag stained citrus slid over the flat face and curved body of the guitar. I never thought I would see anything so beautiful. My heart broke in tiny uncertain pieces as he continued to caress the unnatural body.

Reluctantly, I entered the room. I stood before him praying he would look up, acknowledge me in some small way, but his focus remained fixed on the soft sheen of the wood. "I'm leaving now," I said with a gentleness I had not known was within me. Still he stroked the guitar. My eyes grew damp as I continued to watch him work and wondered why I was walking away from the only moments in my life that had ever left me breathless.

Long minutes passed. The sun reached above the cling wrap taking the soft colors out of the world and giving, instead, an unsteady brightness. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I knew it would only hurt us both more. Slowly, I turned to leave. Each step felt impossible. The bright light pulling me back, telling me I would have no more beauty in my life. Exhaustion filled me and I felt my legs and heart weaken. My resolve slowly draining away. I steadied myself against the door way.

His arms circled around me, his warm breath on my neck, and hot tears on my cheek.  "You will always be my love," he said. My last breath of him grooved into the very tissues of my being the smell of lemon oil and shampoo and warm skin not held for long enough.

*** One Minute Writer ***

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