Our Place Beneath The Oak Tree…

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A story of love, loss and the fragility of life…

 

Image courtesy of Jordan Stewart
Image courtesy of Jordan Stewart

I could feel him beside me, nestled in what could only be presumed as an act of burning desire and sentiment. He caressed my hair, mahogany curls twirling around my strained neck. It was cold. My nose was turning a rosy hue. But I did not care for physical warmth. I was too numb to feel the frost enveloping my knit- covered limbs. I couldn’t move myself. I was too enraptured in the incoherence of my thoughts, imagining, sensing, feeling a warm non-existent embrace around my arms and chest…

I looked up from my patch underneath the tree. I gazed out across the meadows, covered in snow. This was our place, here under the oak tree; our little place hidden away from all the ridiculousness of life and its corporate giants. The serenity of the snow was calming. But not calming enough. Nothing, no level of family or material comfort would appease this emotional mess…
“I can’t take this anymore”

This was the second time he had said this. “It’s just bullshit. Just….just crap. Utter crap!”. I couldn’t understand what he meant by this. I looked at him aggressively, defiantly. “Look, what do you want from me? You think you can just expect me to drop everything? My job? My home? I understand you want to leave, but not like this”. He glared at me, calculating his response. “That’s just selfish, and after everything I’ve done for you”.

This had become a stupid argument. Stupid because it could be worked out. I knew it could, if only he would calm down and try to understand from my perspective. This place meant too much. Especially after father’s dreadful passing…

He glanced his eyes at me. They were welling up. “You need to let go! Let go of the past and just come with me. Please.” He collapsed into a chair, putting his head in his hands and whispered “I…I need you”.

We all wish for a happy life, one with minimal pain and universal joy. We all hope to achieve wonderful things, be successful, even leave behind a legacy. But it doesn’t always work like that. We can’t always be content. I sadly discovered this for myself that one morning a police officer appeared at my front door. This was the morning after the argument. That stupid, nonsensical, hopeless quarrel. ” We need to leave” he had said. “This town isn’t good for either of us”…I should have agreed with him. There and then. Because I knew he was right. I was in a state of utter denial. I was not fine. I was holding on to something that no longer existed, and it was becoming unhealthy.

I wanted to run away…away to our spot beneath the oak tree…

It was becoming colder. I could no longer feel my toes. I wanted to cry, but no tears flowed. Just anger, that was all that brimmed to the cold surface. ‘What am I to do’ I thought to myself, still feeling his breath brush my bony neck. A stupid quarrel. That was all it had been.

I looked beside me. No one was there. Or at least no one visible. But I could still feel him holding on to me. In my eyes, my heart, he was still there…

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Currently the Winchester Editor of Wessex Scene, Kalisto is a fine arts student, keen writer and emerging artist with a mighty love of coffee...

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