What if I tell you that I am more enticed by the colours of fall than that of spring?” She wrote in her diary as she sat on the rusty bench, half of which was hospitably catering to the leafless branches leaning feebly upon it.
STORY
“What if I tell you that I am more enticed by the colours of fall than that of spring?” She wrote in her diary as she sat on the rusty bench, half of which was hospitably catering to the leafless branches leaning feebly upon it. The brittle leaves crunched under her feet, the crisp air authoritatively sanctioned her presence, preceded by breezy wind that stroked her velvety strands of auburn hair.
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It was the beginning of the end. She was strolling in the garden, watering the luscious green plants, sniffing the jasmines and roses and tulips. She had planted them herself and had seen them grow every day.
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Tears pricked behind her eyes, they wanted to stream down but she wouldn’t let them. They excruciated her existence just like the thorns beneath the flowers would do if she touched them. In the meantime, a flaming red gold leaf gliding through the air fell on her. She embraced it on her lap just like a cradle and gleamed at it with both regret and relief. It had been separated from where it breathed life but still it stood beautifully in front of her eyes, emphasizing that the pain had ended, that the ache was terminated and that it would never be forgotten.
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She let her hand out to pick the prettiest of the roses to grace her hair before she was rushed to the hospital. The rose had come off, clenched into her palm with its thorns piercing her forgiving skin.
“It’s a girl!”
“I knew it...,” she said with tears welled up in her eyes. “Where is she?” she inquired with distressed eyes.
“She...we will bring her to you soon.”
One week had passed, she lay in her hospital bed, imagining about her little royalty, her fragile cheeks, her delicate fingers, her melodious giggles.
But why hadn’t they still brought her? And why was she still in emergency? Why wouldn’t they tell her anything except “It’s all fine; things are taking time.”
What things?
She was left to wonder about things, good and bad for an entire week until her daughter was placed on her arm, her breath fading away.
She understood what was happening.
It was a goodbye.
She sniffed her, held her, and cried with her. Finally, she placed her very close to herself so that she could listen to the dying heartbeat of her daughter. She could feel her daughter taking away not herself but her mother’s pain, her ailment, her premonition away with her as she glided to the heavens.
Gone.
Her daughter had blessed her with a new life by surrendering her own.
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It was her daughter everywhere. She had come in spring and left in fall. She sniffed at the air, it smelled of her, she stroked the leaf, it was as fragile as her, and she glanced at all the shades of vibrant yellow and vivacious purple and muted green and spirited red; it all came back to her. She was everywhere.
Her daughter had left her mother alive to celebrate her presence around her. She was never separated but adjoined for an eternity on that day. She could feel her more strongly than ever.
She had fallen for the fall.
