Once, on a road, within a carriage, I lashed those reigns against the mare’s rear, and fled forward to the North. For I saw a star, with a sign I knew well to be part of it. A little note a blew free from my mouth, mingling with the frost in a silver breath, for it was nearly winter.
The month of December drew the evening into a tide. A tide of tears and bitterness, for I was with my beloved’s form. She passed from an illness I know not of its origin. Still, I rode with all my mare’s might towards the North, to see the graves of my family. Their horror, I could imagine to be alike mine, for I am one to weep frequently. But, their horror not only to see me, were they to live, though to see the beauty that rested in a delicate mode, is unfathomable.
Little woman who was beside me, with her eyes upon blackness, as her lids were closed, and her form pressed into the cushion beneath herself; I could see herself quite warm in whatever nestled area she made for herself in Heaven.
Death is a strange element for life to, one day, experience, for she appeared as warm and comfortable as though she never passed. As though she were prepped in the garbs befitting that cold and shameful day. It was as if the bloodless cold to her skin were something of no bother to her.
My dear departed lady was dressed in black, to match her state. Death, it was, and I could never bring her back, for I am not Christ. Though, I prayed to him to do what I could not. And, though it did not happen, and because it did not happen, I have to admit that my faith slipped, if only a tad.
I am in terrible torment, in memory of that day, for as I rode close to see the star, it began to shimmer and distort itself, ever-more; and, ever-more did it also seem to drown itself away from me, unwilling to allow me to embrace it. It had to have only been my mind, in its own state, as one of paranoia. My woman, my love, and how beautiful she had been in life!
Betrayed by love, I am, and I speak not of my beloved, for she is at fault for nothing. I speak ill of the emotion, only, as my mind expected the everlasting and the utmost, from it.
The mare, the horse, rode forward towards the gleaming and fading light. And I discovered something on the way. With the fading light, I, too, began to shimmer as something I believed never to be possible.
Was I dead, too, unable to believe in it?
Like a light, like a belief, like a faith I knew I once had, I am now telling of a scene that was upon a time, in a bleak history.
But, I speak of the past, like something dimly lit in my mind. It is as if I were somewhere I know not even of the place, at the moment I speak of this. Am I cherished in where I belong? The little home about me, with its four walls, and the rocking chair where I am seated. What is this place? The hues are shadows, while the darkness is the sunlight beaming inside.
Am I lost upon this road?
