The ring, the sign of their love, it did shine every time. Did that mean that the love existed?
I kept smiling, asking myself those questions.
She got up from the bed, “darling, come-on, get up now, you have to walk to the Church na?”
She bowed down to pick the broken vase, and the dying lilies.
What would soothe those dying lilies, a new flower vase, or its home soil in the backyard?
The entering autumn’s cold morning hadn’t been less warm, you could sense the sun and the cold flowers at the same time.
Our backyard had been filled with crunchy fallen leaves. The leaves with bittersweet coral colours.
The trees were getting naked day by day.
The Roses had already died. And the lilies would die sooner too. Almost every flower had withered.
All that I wanted to see would be white flowers frozen in snow, and I wanted to wait peacefully by the fireplace for my death to help me attain a life, without the fear of death- (Yeah, my selfish heart had wanted to shut it sooner)
But at the same time the soul didn’t want to leave the family alone.
Dad had been watering the flowers after his night’s hangover-
After plucking each petal from his wife’s soul every night, it seemed easier to care for the blossom of the backyard.
After giving his wife those wounds every night, the morning seemed new to him, for he hadn’t remembered anything about the previous night ever.
Or maybe he did remember everything, but it hadn’t seemed easy to say sorry to his wife. It hadn’t been easy to accept his mistake.
And for my step-mother, she had chosen a life full of death for herself, for the sake of us.
Yeah, she had married dad when my own mother had died.
Marisa had been sleeping yet. Her eyes darkened, the dried tears spread on her eyes. She used to say, “its hard to open eyes in morning, after you have cried for the nights”
Only dying can soothe the dying.
I held the dying Lillies in my hand, “I’ll take care of them!”
“Sure, darling!” Mother told me.
I wanted to help those Lillies live, like I had wanted someone to help me, water me, grow me a little bit.
Or I wanted them to die sooner, like I had wanted for my own self, tired of vomiting blood, losing hair, falling unconscious.
I smiled a little, like those dying lilies, thinking of walking to church, and to my dead mothers grave. And to the river, where the ashes of Rohan’s burnt body had been flowed to. I wondered if I would ever see him again, or feel him again, around that river, somewhere.