Chapter 1

Birds, Garden, Fountain

I'm staring down into the night
trying to hide the pain...

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After all this time, I can hardly believe that these are all happening. The thoughts have been floating around my brain for a while now, but until today I haven't felt the urgency about clearing the air. I know that some of you have always felt I'm a bit too secretive. Well, maybe I am.

The breeze brought by the chilly northeastern wind came in contact with the little door-hanger in the window. I twitched when I heard its music. It's made of seashells woven in a delicately simple, but charming, way by a gifted hand. I walked to the porch 'til I reached its destination by the door. Balancing in my tiptoes, I tried as much effort as I can muster to touch even just a little piece of the ornament. It's so appealing. It makes me want to break down and succumb myself in the cage of my past. Our past.

--

"Hey. Look. I brought a present for you!" he said in his ever-manly tone while flashing a charming smile. He revealed the surprise that he's keeping at his back and hanged it in the door of my porch.

I smiled, contentedly, as I watch him make his way to my direction.

"When you hear the sea-shells chime, it means that there's still hope. Don't ever let despair lead your way," he uttered as he cordially caressed my right cheek. I leaned in his touch, savouring the sweetness of the moment. Who knows what will happen next?

--

It all dawned to me the bewilderment about his statement. And now that the ornament chimed, does it mean that there's still hope?

--

I slowly made my way outside where the view is all peaceful and serene. The birds, the garden, the fountain. They all looked the same after long years. Maybe someone is maintaining its beauty. Someone who will feel lightened when caring for them. Someone who's innocent and who do not know anything about what those elements mean in my life. This was supposed to be my most favourite place to go to - the place where I find peace. But that was years ago. Now, the peacefulness was already replaced by agonizing memories. It's been what? Twelve years?

Rubbing my hand back and forth against my shoulders, I tried to fight the cold wind from penetrating my weak body. I hope I can make it. I spent ten years fighting for life. I almost succeeded. But unfortunately, here I am - making use of my remaining time in this earth by packing as much memories as I can and putting them on my imaginary backpack to carry all the way to heaven. How I wish I could at least bring my best, happiest memories. But they are all embedded already in the Earth's core - and there's no other way to restore it to where it's used to be.

I picked one of the flowers. Lilies. They're my favourite. I neared it to my nose and intoxicated myself as its scent traveled through my nostrils. It's pleasing. I closed my eyes as memories of the past made a blurry flashback to my mind.

--

I am walking hand in hand with the love of my life. He was my first. And hopefully, he will be my last. We were happy cherishing every single moment; completely ignorant that everything will abruptly come to an end. I was the only one. He knows, with his own reason, but apparently, he wouldn't let me know.

"I wonder what it feels like if you can fly," I told him once. The innocent dream is transparently visible in my eyes as I look at the clear blue sky one Saturday morning. He looked at me. Amazed. I wonder what he was thinking. He settled his gaze on me for a moment. Afterwards, he smiled. He held my hand and tenderly squeezed it with his bigger one. Shortly, he tilted his head to where I was looking at a while ago.

"You don't need to be a bird to fly. All you need is the willingness to fly," he said ironically. My brows furrowed, as if reflecting my incomprehensiveness. I wanted to ask him what he meant by that statement but I'm completely lured by the peacefulness of nature to ever think of anything else.

--

"Why do you like flowers?" he asked me while we continue to journey through my grandmother's garden. I raised one of my eyebrows because of the dumbness of his question. What is wrong about liking flowers?

"Because it's beautiful," I said briefly. And now I know that I answered his dumb question with a dumb answer too.

"It's not the most beautiful thing in this world. Why do you like it?" he asked once again as he lead me to one of the benches. After leading me to sit down beside him, he looked at me encouragingly.

I sighed. I wonder what is going on with him. He's quite too serious.

"Life is short. You should give importance and appreciation to its every single detail," I answered him wholeheartedly. At that time, I don't know what is up with me either. I'm being so appreciative. I'm talking like there's no tomorrow. But then, I shrugged the thought out of my mind. It's ridiculous.

But now, the realization dawned already. They were signs. And they will serve as the emblem of my life. The emblem that will represent what my life was when I was still alive.

He smiled at me and hugged me carefully and protectively - as if he's afraid to break me. It's like I'm the most divine ornament he's afraid to put a scratch on.

--

He dipped his hand in the water and splashed some of its crystal-clear drops in the statue of an angel in the middle of the fountain. I can see the sorrow in his eyes through his reflection in the water. Curiosity hit me. And out of a sudden, I asked him.

"What's wrong?"

There was no answer. He continued splashing water, gently, to the white statue. Somehow, I felt a little tinge of jealousy that he's attention is not directed to me but to the lifeless man-made craft. I spoke once again, softly.

"Hey..."

I tried to get his attention by rubbing his back with gentle circles. Then, he stopped splashing water and stilled his hand on the pond. The currents rested and the water was calm already after a short pause. After a while, something dropped in the water. Yet, at that time, I wasn't aware that he's crying. He looked at me with tender, loving eyes and reached for my hand. That was the time when I became oblivious of his feelings.

My gaze moved from his face, to our interwoven hands, and up to his face again. I'm sure that worry is all but written in my face. I searched through his eyes but it's eclipsed with a deep surge of misery.

"I love you," he said softly. I can absorb with all my senses his words. He means it. He told me that he loves me for loads of times already but I don't know why his words are more appealing to me today.

It was until he held my cheek that I became aware of what was happening. I'm crying. He wiped my tears with his thumb and gently leaned on me. Our lips met. He was reluctant to kiss me. I know. I can feel it. It's like he can't bear to even kiss me. He's guilty about something.

But I'm not so I kissed him sweetly, satisfying our heart's desire. And as far as I can remember, he was the first one who pulled back.

That was pretty much the last kiss we've ever shared.

--

I guess the most regretful thing I've ever done in my entire short life is not the wrong thing I did. Rather, it's the right things I did for the wrong one. At first, I myself can't get the irony of all things. But now, I most certainly can. It's when you'll know that you've already reached the limitation of your life that you'll have the courage to face everything. It's the time when you'll have the bravery to apologize to all the persons you've had hurt in the past.

Lucky are those who were granted with long life. But I reckon persons like me are luckier. Why? Because I was able to live shortly... but nicely. It's worth it. People granted with long lives cannot even appreciate their abundance of time. And there we go again with the widely-known saying: Regrets always come at last.

--

"Ella... it's time,"

I looked up and there I saw him.

"C--"

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There we go with the first chapter.
This story will be pretty serious and I bet you've noticed already.
 Comments will be very much appreciated...(: