Hi!! This is a piece I write last week and I’m really proud of it!! Hope you like it!
“Drenched in melanin, I can still feel her hand in mine, her body by mine, her soul entangling itself with mine. I can still see her charcoal eyes, her midnight skin, her cocoa brown curls. I can still smell the flowers: the lilies, the daisies, the sunflowers, the honeysuckles. I can still hear the ress tittering to themselves, gossiping like our mothers used to. And I still remember how she looked there, next to me. The wind nipped at her cheeks, whipped at her clothes, and delicately whispered to us, saying nothing but not needing to. Her shirt was white and her jeans were blue. She had found flowers that she liked, so they sat perched in her hair. Her skin had just begun to clear up, so she was glowing as if she were the Sun. She danced with the clouds as I watched. Her voice rang out, rose above the stars, and echoed into distant galaxies. Her eyes held a happiness that transcended time and space itself. How beautiful she is. How beautiful she was.
That night, I watched the sunset in her embrace. It was so beautiful. The sky was a mirage of blues, pinks, purples, reds. It felt as if the sky had presented all of its best just for us. And at that thought, she cried. She said that, ‘It was too beautiful to be just for her. Just for us.’ But I believe it was. God had painted the stars for us and we were so very grateful. So very in love. She kissed my curls and laced her fingers in mine. She traced the freckles on my shoulders, the expanse of my back, the curve of my spine. She always smelled so good. That night, she smelled like the flowers laced into her hair. There was no need for words, for speaking, despite the fact that we could taste a lifetime on our tongues. That night, on that tiny little rock, I fell asleep in her arms. And I dreamt of the words we never said. Of staying there and building our entire lives around it. Turn the rock into a boulder, maybe. But, I woke up before the world did. Before she did. And, basked in moonlight, I couldn’t help but think, ’How beautiful she is’. And how beautiful she was.
She woke up shortly after I did, and we sang the stars to sleep. There is a saying that black girls and boys turn blue under moonlight. And she was my favorite shade. Her hair lit pale.
Her eyes sparkled. Her voice reached beyond us. And, in that moment, when everything fell away except for her and I, I was absolutely in love with her. And I told her so. And the words rippled through my chest. She smiled at me, her teeth perfect and her gums dark, and whispered,’ Our love is as free as the stars in the sky’. That was her telling me that she loved me too. And she kissed me. Every cell in my body buzzed with joy. With anticipation. With something more than heavenly. And I absolutely loved it. She tasted like coffee and strawberries and sleep. Goodness Gracious, she was, hands down, the love of my life. But the sky woke up, and she had to go home. It broke my heart everytime, but we met up every night, so it wasn’t too bad.”
Grandma, that’s beautiful. It sounds as if you were two were genuinely in love with each other. Whatever happened? Do you two still talk?”
“One night, we met on our rock. It was shrouded in this thick skirt of trees and vegetation. She broke through their shadow and I could’ve sworn she was the most beautiful thing on this Earth. The moonlight had kissed her with an ethereal glow. Her hair was pulled back, but it still looked as if she had spent hours styling it. Her eyes were sprinkled with stars. She could’ve been a goddess, that’s how gorgeous she was. Her hair was slightly messy, frayed at the ends, and as she got closer to me, the illumination shone through the stray strands, forming a halo. Her voice was butter. She loved singing. We would sing to the birds and the trees and the sky all night. I loved listening to her. She had a way of making you feel what she felt with her voice. If she was sad, she’d sing ballads. If she was angry, she rang war cries. When we were together, she mostly sang love songs. And every word she uttered reverberated through my chest, got caged in my ribs, and escaped through my heart. She was the next Billie Holiday. And after she sang, she kissed me, sweetly. But someone else heard her. Someone else saw her. Someone else felt her heartbeat in their chest. But they didn’t like it. So, that night, from amongst the brush, a shot was fired. It hit her. Right in the neck. She fell off the rock, right onto the cushion of grass below. And I followed her. But there was so much blood. So little that I could do. We were sat there for what felt like an eternity, but it was most likely a span of 10 minutes. She didn’t say a word, she just watched the stars. And I watched them in her eyes. I watched the tears form and disappear. I watched the words bubble up and evaporate. And I watched as the twinkle in her eye dimmed. I cried. I held her to my chest, I sat there, and I cried until the Sun woke up. But, by then, she had already passed into the other world.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
It’s fine. The Universe had righted itself. The man that killed her had gotten Ole Sparky.”
“Did you watch him die?”
“No, I don’t really care for watching people die. And it would’ve been pointless. I had already forgiven him. I had found my closure. I just hope he’s okay wherever he is. And I pray that she’s safe wherever she is.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”