Half A Heart
Chloe Tan, Grade 7
He knew she was dead.
Her mesmerising eyes still brought tears to his eyes, her laugh sill caused him to quirk a smile of his own, and her lips always caused his heart to ache with bitter sweetness.
The girl that brought insurmountable joy to his aching heart every time she smiled that radiant smile of hers, every time she gripped his hand whether out of excitement or fear, and he would relive every second of her body fitting into his embrace, like two jigsaw puzzles, complete and whole.
But how was she dead when he could still see her? The outline of her shape bathed in the moonlight while she glided around the block, almost floating on thin air? How could she be dead when he could still feel the gentle pressure of her lips on his? When the image of her smile or the sound of her laugh was imprinted in his mind, set on replay over and over again?
How was he, the man that loved her so much that he would rather die than be in this world than be without her, still alive? How was he not wallowing in self guilt, shame and sadness while battling depression, restraining himself from falling into Death’s embrace?
Glimpses of the future plagued his mind, him on his knee, a diamond glistening on a simple silver band in a velvet box, her hands pressed against her cheeks, tears of joy streaming down her face, her walking down the aisle, one arm with her father, the other holding a bouquet of flowers, her bridesmaids trailing behind her, but none could compare to her beauty, her face shining, almost aglow, a veil covering her face, and he, looking at her with such pride and unveiled wonder. Then a little brown haired girl toddling around in the tranquil evergreen grass while he watched on, his arm wrapped around her waist, both with streaks of grey in their hair, her lovely face breaking into tears as the now-older girl ran into her arms, burying his face in her clothes and him wrapping his arms around them both, as if protecting them from Life itself. The last was of both of them old and grey, wrinkled old hands together.
He followed the ghostly outline of his beloved, and reaching out a hand to caress her face, to meet her glowing eyes, but she stared right through him, and his hand passed through her. Reality came crashing down upon him. She was a ghost. She was long gone from the world of the living.
He started to cry. “What did I do to deserve this fate? Why must I live through this torture, to endure even a day without her? Why must I be alone in this world? Why?”
His lay on the concrete floor, rocking back and forth with grief. He was merely a shell of a former man.
Only half a heart, half a man, half a life, remained.