Farewell, Dearest.

By Amrusha Acharya

26th November, Tuesday. 

Dearest, 

Have you seen how beautiful the moon appears tonight? Have you noticed how all the stars twinkle so brightly? The wind is cold like the sweet embrace of death; it reminds me of your hands, so desolately cold when you wrap them around mine. It's been a year since you planted the poppies here. They seem to be doing well, so precious in their scarlet hues. I can still see you sometimes, walking barefoot through the sparkling grass, the poppies blooming in your wake. I still remember the story you told me– Morpheus, the God of Dreams. It seems the book still rests on my bookshelf, the cover ever glorious and ever so red as the poppies you have planted. 

Did you know the poppies have such a rich aroma? So intoxicating; It's as though I'm floating on clouds, my hands and feet free like sprites of the wind, like Zephyrus calling upon the west wind, and like Persephone breathing spring to life. It's like a cosmic dance, my eyes spiralling round and round, clinging onto any glimmers of roses or daisies I see. I've looked for your silhouette in the petals of the poppies and the lilies that surround me, but all I see is emptiness, a kind of blackness which would make Hades shudder. Morpheus seems to have taken a liking to me, visiting me every night, tapping on the window, pang, pang, pang! 

Would the glass shatter from my indifference?

My lashes are like daggers, pricking into my skin all the time, forcing me to endure the pain, all day and, it is only night which provides me respite. I want to drink all of the morning sun so I wouldn't have to see my own lone shadow, to consume all of the light that blinds my eyes so I could be closer to you. Morpheus keeps knocking on the door, asking me to open it, but I don't, for I know, the moment I do, he'll take you away from me. And if you leave, who would water the poppies? Who would read to me? 

I wish I could eat six of those pomegranate seeds that Persephone crushed between her lips, so that I may be by your side forever. Hades wouldn't need to trick me either, I'd willingly sell half my soul if it means that half of me would always be with you. 

I remember you always blamed Orpheus for turning around, but I don't think I'm any different. Do you think Eurydice blamed him? Would you blame me, too, if I turned around when you fell in the passage? 

I know you'll disappear once the sun rises again, tomorrow, and the day after. I wish I could sleep, sleep so I wouldn't have to wait for the sun to drown. But, Morpheus haunts my dreams. Maybe, if I simply sit by the poppies, you'll come back to me.

The stars have finally appeared next to the moon. Do you think it's time for me to join them, too? Afterall, only when I'm the farthest from the earth can I feel the closest to you. 

Perhaps, I'll truly find you in the underworld, with ruby poppies held close to your pearly chest as you await my arrival. Maybe the glass will shatter. And maybe, I'll open the door one last time, only to see a trail of blood-hued petals leading me to you.

Farewell, Dearest. 

By Amrusha Acharya