Chapter 3 ( Her soul, Her art )

April 1, 2074 Arthur's narration

Woke up with her book in my arms. Reading is such a chore, it literally drained every energy out of me and I'm growing old. I can't even remember how I ended up here with her in my arms. When you are  younger, you could do a hundred things in one day and still have a sack of energy left in your body to do more. But things don't always stay the same, as you start ageing, everything ages along with you, you lose the energy you had and now doing just a couple of things will tire you. To me reading did that. It is no mystery why, for a man who never read a book before, of course it is a chore. Does that mean I'll stop reading her? No. Not even if it going to last until my last breath. I wouldn't. She was my everything, my precious. Now I don't have her but she is still alive, right here, here in this book. Its her. Now this is my everything, my everything that once hopped around this huge house, cuddling me, kissing me, singing with me, dancing with me, living with me. 

As the universe took her away from me right in front of my eyes, all I could do was stand there and watch, watch her go, leave, and never come back running into my arms. In that split second before she left, she told me that she loves me with all her heart and that even death won't do us apart. F*****g universe! The glass shattered into a million pieces like stars shattered across the universe, stained with tea covering the kitchen tiles like a sandy beach all sparkly and beautiful. I just lost another cup. At the rate I am going, by the end of this month I'll be left with no mugs to drink tea with. It's just the thought of her death, No matter how old I get, no matter what I forget, that incident just doesn't leave me. Every inch of detail still sharp and clearly carved into my head. Marianne loved those mugs. She bought a 12 piece set from the vintage chinaware store just down the street beside the Church of Archangels. I visited the store once a month. Its filled with beautiful memories of her going absolutely crazy over pots and mugs and plates with eccentric designs. She was a very artsy fartsy person. Her paintings brought life to the word home, decorating the walls with its bright crisp colour so rich. When we first moved into this beautiful house, we had everything we needed for it to be called home and yet something was amiss. At first we thought it must have been cursed and evil spirits roamed the house lurking in the dark corners just waiting and plotting a way to chase us out and then we realised that we were being extremely dumb. It became a huge joke and we would laugh all day long and she would hug me and whisper into my ears, "How can evil spirits prevail in a house that's owned by a greek god and his sexy gorgeous companion, baby." just then her tender soft petal like lips will sign my cheek with a kiss so soft and lovely. On the exterior Im all calm and manly but on the inside every nerve will be jumping in joy. Benediction! 

Even though I'm old and useless I couldn't stay put. I had to be active. No, don't laugh, I didn't mean it in a suggestive way. Haha. I meant I did what other old people did too, a stroll at the clifton park, feeding pigeons, telling kids stories about my crazy adventures that honestly has never happened. It kept my days moving. It kept me healthy. But that 's the sick part. The healthier I was the further my end was going, the faster my days went the more I missed her. It all kept coming back to me, to haunt me, to put me down, to break me again and again, to dry every tear out, to suffocate me but not kill. Hell. It was literally hell. They say hell is a place beneath earth. I say f**k whoever said that cause hell isn't a place but a feeling that is hiding inside you and when the time comes, attacks you from the inside, causing extreme pain so torturous that it could be felt physically in your chest. The moment where you feel your ribs caving in, piercing your heart, puncturing your lungs and you just want nothing else but to end your life that very minute to escape this plague.

But now the pain started to subside. Cause I had her. I felt her, again. The book. Everyday, every minute, why, every bloody millisecond the book is by my side, in my bag or in my arms. Never will it leave me even when I'm on my deathbed. Never. I promised to never leave her and I failed once. Not again will I do that. My Precious, my marianne, why would I leave her. An old man  crying is a little pathetic but again I am after all a faulted human being that has emotions just like every one of you. Is it wrong that I cry, is it not manly that I cry, do I look like a give a f**k anymore. Try giving a f**k about all this when your only love, your only sweetheart, your only reason for why you didn't end your life in high school, your one and only, leaves you on this dreadful planet to live the rest of your pathetic life on your own. Just give it a try and not cry, I dare you. 

Another evening. Another mug of tea. Another chapter of her. I miss her. I love her. Just her.