Entangled

The end of a love story

 At the start, it was her. And that was it. That was enough. She could never tell when everything had become so intertwined.

She wandered around the house, looking at all the items she had collected over the years, that they had collected over the years. She couldn’t tell what was hers, what she had brought: everything was theirs.

Maybe one day it would be separated, the collection, and they would tell who it came from. They could piece back together a history that she herself was not even sure of.

She paused to pick up books, pawing through the pages as if searching for a hidden message, something that would help her.

Continuing on to the bottoms of the staircase, she paused thinking of the first time she had climbed those stairs, they had climbed those stairs, knowing what waited for her, for them at the top. A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she resumed her climb.

Surveying the open space below her from the top she remembered why she had wanted this to be her house, why she had wanted to live here. That was one thought she knew was definitely hers and only hers.

She wondered when she had completely lost herself, when they had completely become one identity. She asked herself if she would take it back but she didn’t know the answer.

She closed bedroom doors on her way along the landing, smiling as she walked, avoiding the creaky floorboards. The kids had figured them out early on, They were able to sneak around, silent as a ghost, before appearing as if out of nowhere. Later they had used them to sneak out when they thought she was sleeping. She remembered one night when they got caught and the fight that followed. For some reason even that memory made her smile.

She opened the door to their bedroom, her bedroom catching sight of him, lying there so soundly. They had decorated the room in a muted style, she had never been one for loud trinkets or lots of photos. Instead they had chosen to add colour in the bed, the place they had enjoyed the most. Luckily they had both agreed that the bed was the most important purchase in the house and so had gone all out.

There was an odd comfort climbing into the bed, over the years it had molded to their shapes, hers on the left and his on the right. Even when the other wasn’t there, they slept on their respective side.

She took great comfort in knowing he was there with her, even with his body the way it was now, full of disease and weak. He had always been her protector, the one place she felt safe no matter what.

When the roles had been reversed she had struggled.  She couldn’t fight it for him, all she had wanted to do was try to make him comfortable and she had failed. Crushed by her failure she had retreated into herself, watching him slowly be taken from her was the ultimate punishment.

Turning to touch his back, running his hands down his body in a futile attempt to wake him, she looked one more time at the man she had loved. The man she had become such a part of she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. Kissing the back of his head, she lay down next to him, slipping in to the space behind him and fitting her body next to his, where it had fit so well for so many years.

She had carefully considered her choices, some were too messy, some just seemed downright painful and some were not sure to even do the job.

This was the one secret she had managed to keep to herself. She held onto this secret and it had helped her. This way they would never have to untangle themselves from one another.

There was a little warmth left in him and she held on tightly as she began to feel it. The fuzzing of her mind, her thoughts seemed to come in waves never completely together but whole enough for her to understand them.

An overwhelming urge to close her eyes was the signal she needed to let go.

So she did. She surrounded herself completely.

 

That was how they found them.

Together.

Lying in such a way it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

The same In life and death.