For You

You were getting married.

The car picked us up somewhere in the desert, and drove us to the hotel. I didn’t belong to your inner circle anymore. Officially, I never did. I am sure people wondered why I was even there. No one asked though. The silent indifference to me was all the words we ever needed.

At the hotel, I watched you sleep, just as beautiful as always. Your family had kept a close eye on you and made sure that my room was nowhere near yours. Somehow I did manage to see you though, in the dead of night, hoping to talk to you one last time. You were asleep. You looked so happy. I left without waking you.

As the sun rose, you were picked up. I watched from the roof of the hotel. You looked stunning in your white wedding dress. The horse drawn carriage pulled into the courtyard, the white horses shining in the light of the dawning day.

Your mother sat beside you in the carriage. She was wearing black, as were the driver.

He took the carriage for an extra lap around the courtyard, clearly wanting everyone to get a chance to see you. He looked up as he came around again and he recognized me.  Raising his hand, he waved at me. I am guessing that across the distance, he could only see the smile on my lips, not the tears in my eyes.

You looked up and saw me, drawn by his wave. I drew a heart in the air, with my finger. You smiled and mirrored it. Your mother looked sternly ahead, actively ignoring me.

For you, it was a promise. For you, it meant that you may be getting married but you would always love me. For you, it meant love.

For me, it was goodbye. I knew that I wouldn’t go to your wedding. I knew that I would walk away now. I would leave you alone, I would let you be happy with the man you had chosen. Hanging around you, would only make it harder for the both of us.

Still, I was smiling through the tears as you drove off. Your future was just beginning. Your life was just beginning. You were young and beautiful. You loved your husband to be.

Soon I would be nothing to you, but a fond memory, the ghost of something that might have been, in another time and place.

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About Starstone

-Owned by horses. Writer, Photographer, Director, Musician.
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