Each Year

It wasn’t the first time I’d been here; a collection of memories swirl through my cerebral as I tread the forest floor to the place I was familiar. It’s aged a lot since last. Trees had grown taller, vines matured, rocks darkened; the moss alive.

Another year had passed; she returned as if on cue, her beauty still catching me off guard after all these years. She made her way to the place; the forest canopy fracturing the suns rays onto her golden hair below. She knelt there and sighed. I longed to comfort her, tell her how much I miss her. But I can’t. I just watch her from afar.

She leaves a rose by the rock to wilt as the seven before it and whispers “Do you miss me too?” Present was sadness that trembled inside me, she looked up for a moment as if she knew, but her gaze straight past me out into the unknown. I stood there helpless. And she still had no idea.

I wanted to tell her: Of course I did; it was all I did. You are the only reason I am still here year after year.
It was seven years ago, I recall, to the day. We were walking through here, together on a hike. Up on the ledge when I was looking down; I slipped, fell below onto the rocks. I know she tried to rescue me. What I saw in my last moments, I have never told her. How could I?

It is only today I get to see you, and again in a year. It’s so lonely out here waiting for you to return. One day you would stop returning. One day you would learn the truth and be free. As would I. But how could I be the one tell you? That you too, fell. How could you tell someone you loved that they were dead too…