Here I sit, alone. Cigarette in my hand. It burns slowly, like time has around me. I reflect on my life as I often try to avoid. Everything is growing older, especially me. Life just seems to be taking an unusual amount of time to kill me.

Of course I have regrets, who really doesn’t? If I could turn around time I would. I would in a second, for her. If it meant I could get her back, not to be so alone, with only my self-pity to keep me company. The things I did to her, I will never forget, never forgive myself for doing.

I remember the day we met. It was an early summer day in 1957. She walked passed with such greatness, such grace. She caught my eye with the way her blue eyes glistened in the sun light. Her long dark hair trailed beautifully down her back. Her smile made me stop suddenly like a stop sign in the road. I knew deep down she was my something special. I managed up the nerve to ask her to the fair that night. To my utmost surprise, she said yes. Yes to my fumbling stammering words.

At the fair later that night. We were so young, so happy. We had to go on all the rides, ending on the Ferris wheel. We watched as the fireworks burst from the night sky as if the sun had attempted his escape from the moon. We kissed the most magical kiss. Her lips, so soft, as they gently pressed against mine.

From that point on, we were together. It all seemed like the perfect dream. In the winter we would trudge out in the snow covered land, bundled up tight, and sit beneath that tree. The tree with each leaf, each branch laced ever so delicately with crystal that glimmered in the high sun. I held her tight, to keep her from the cold, or maybe the troubles from life. Maybe, just maybe, the tighter I held her, the longer she would stay. It didn’t matter how hard the wind beat our faces, we would sit there, laughing and talking for hours on end.

In the summer we would go out to that tree. Enjoying picnics with each other. Running after one another, watching as the day grew old. Peering upon those tiny stars as they came out of hiding one by one. Only the crickets disturbed our peace. When night was finally done rising, we would challenge the odds and count the stars. Together we would start, but I would trail off listening to the music of her voice. She would lose track when she would notice me staring at her. Her giggle would make the corners of my mouth reach ear to ear.

We got married under that tree. Just two years later, we were blessed with the news of a baby. Doctor says it should have been a boy. Five months in, we suffered a miscarriage. Her cries haunt me still. The silence of that lifeless body that was my son. The little me junior. He was gone, so were we.

We stopped talking. The silence sickened me to the bone. It was not that I wanted to talk, but without her voice, it was only my thoughts that filled my skull. I drank to drown the silence. That only made it worse, so I kept drinking. I would drink until I passed out. Then I would have horrible, horrible dreams. Dreams about my love, crying. She was holding something, sobbing and pleading “why”. Every time I would try to see what she was holding, it was always our son. My son, as he was on that day.
Cold.
Lifeless.
Dead.

There was no escape for me; she began to hate everything that I had become. What had I become? I used to make her say something, anything! I would beg, grabbing her so hard, “please, please end this silence!” She would just cry. Her tears would stop me from my attack, like Superman’s kryptonite. I would try to pick her up, hold her, love her. She just fought me. I scared her as my son scared me. When I let her go, that was it. She was gone.

She finally had enough. She left. Two bags were packed, that was it. I remember that day, all those many years ago. The look of hatred, but sorrow was chiseled upon her still perfect face. Not a damn thing was ever so painful than that look. She never said a word, not even a simple bye. She left everything, every memory, even her ring. Years just blown to dust. The ring that symbolized our love just left there on her pillow. I screamed but no one cared. I cried my river and drowned in it. Drank my sorrows. I will never forgive myself for giving up on my love. Allowing her to leave without the fight that she so very deserved. She was it. My everything. Then everything was gone.

Now, I sit here, hoping that one more cigarette will kill me faster. One more lung filled with tar will take one more minute, one more second off my miserable good-for-nothing life. I would kill myself, but I know that no one would find my body. Not until even the neighborhood started to rot.

So, I will just sit here alone, as my cigarette and life burn away slowly. I will allow time to take its toll on my body. I will not care; will not try to stop it. There is no trying. My life had gone years ago. I’m just waiting to catch up.