I heard this morning he was gone, which meant that he simply had stopped breathing.
His face is etched in my memory but I will never again see the smile he shared with Clark Gable, nor the blue-grey eyes, watching me while listening to me.
Only a void where there was none, will be there.
I like oil paintings: they clearly state contours and visualize the sharp edges. And what you see is what you get: a frozen image that will never alter, that always will stay the same. No more no less!
But now, my inner view drifts off in watercolours, wisps of grey and green, one blurred image fading into another, as tears soften my view of the outside world.
And I think of him, who stopped living, suddenly, when I was not ready to let him leave me.
And he walked away...quitely.
There was a time, I looked for answers, a time I rebelled against anything or anyone who I remotely could hold responsible for taking a warm beating heart away from me.
Life is not fair...
It is unearthly hot, while I sit here, struck by yet another blow...again something I can't fight, I can't change!
I gaze up to the clear-blue sky, straight into the blaze of the white hot ball of fire, defying every law of physics, in search of the blind trust of my childhood : people who die go to heaven : period!
I want to see him now!
All the known colours and then some, explode in my head into a flashing, silver metallic haze. I close my eyes very tight and slowly the world slips mercifully into a vast blackness.
I open them and I am blind.
And then ... I do see...
As this blindness is but darkness, is but the absence of light.
He is still there, behind the veil, separating here and there.
And will never be gone.
