The garden was filled with so many flowers. It was colourful. Pinks and blues. Lots of variety. It was midsummer and dusk was falling. They sat with a cup of warm tea and gazed towards the pink clouds floating carefully through the iridescent sky. There was a cool breeze over the warm air. The trees made ocean sounds. The scent of the flowers took them to another place. That feeling of being with the sun.
Peonies. That smell. How you can watch that flower grow. Just open in front of you. Revealing itself. Many layers of itself. Then there’s that feeling of summer sadness as the petals fall onto the table. You stare through the glass vase. Why is it so hard to see the other side?
The sand between your toes. It shouldn’t be. But it’s melancholic. The water waves. Soft lake sounds. Not like the crashing of the ocean. Why is that more peaceful sometimes. The ocean is emphatic. Endless.
She asks you what you want to eat. You’re not hungry. Just maybe bored because that’s easier right now. You decide on sandwiches. She brings you a glass of orange juice. It’s sweet and too thick. A little pulpy. It’s all mundane. The view is nice. Sometimes there’s a cat at the door.
There was a picture in the background. You could just barely see it through a pile of things. A couple of small machines stacked in front of it. Some books. Just seeing that reminded you why you had come here. Just the shape of that font under the photo. The colour of it. He knew to put it away. To put another piece of art there. Something so much better. Something that would come out of the frame and become something. Something that could live in the room with you. But he didn’t do that. In that moment, you remember death isn’t just an abstract thing made only for the living.
You sang that song so many times. Some songs are quicker learned than others. Some take years to learn. That song, it lingered on your breath. But your mind could never remember it. It’s ok. Not all songs are for all of life. Some leave you with the experience. It’s ok.
Floating. You live on the scent of time and the sound of the wind. That is the food when you can’t eat. The clouds really are more. They are there, sometimes humble. Sometimes severe. Gravity holds the weight of everything in place, encircling itself. It holds your life in place. As much as it can. You shake and things fall to the floor. And gravity seems a broken concept. But it holds everything. Everything. And then things change. And one day it’s just gone.
© Niliema Karkhanis