I straighten my hair from the slight breeze that entangles it as I step out of the golf cart. It’s a warm night and I can smell the ocean, the salty humid dampness that sweeps over the sand around it when night begins to fall.
I’m led up a cobbled path and my dress begins to stick to me, I find it hard to stay composed. I can hear the ocean clearer now and when I get to the edge of the sand my eyes meet with a sight that one only sees in the movies. That unreal stretched out romantic scene.
In the near distance I see a canopy lit up with what seems a million bulbs, white sheer drapes from above surrounding a small white table, two chairs placed on either side wrapped with white bows as if they are ready for gifting. Candles sit elegantly atop the table, glowing as if they are the main performance tonight. Lanterns of all sizes surround the perimeter bringing together the picture perfect portrait against the backdrop of the deep night blue sea. The stars in the sky also seem to sparkle tonight as if competing with the artificial bulbs.
For a split second I get caught up in the view but the melancholy despair that has now spread throughout my entire being reminds me that this is yet another attempt to evade my mind of my own introspection. It’s another perfectly executed torture of sorts. I close my eyes to make sure I’m here in my entirety, that this is not another made up episode.
We sit, we dine, he talks, I listen. I try hard to engage, I try hard to force a smile, I try harder to be happy. The truth is, once your devotion for another leaves your heart, it rarely finds its way back no matter how hard you try. You can pray all you want, but the misery does not leave so easily. The somber tune of the ocean pulls at broken strings in my chest. I take a sip of the champagne to dissolve the lump in my throat. I look away to cease the tears and in my anguish I know the night will end unfairly.
I make small talk to distract the conversation from the path it’s leading to. I know where it’s going and I don’t want to hold that hand, I don’t want what’s coming and I don’t want to be here. What a waste of a beautiful evening, a perfect painting. This illustration would be a work of art had it not had painful feelings and a past. The canvas would show how we grew old together perfectly. A few wrong strokes and the color begins to run. You can cover it up but you and me, we will still see the flaw, where it all went wrong and how it will never make it to the gallery. If only we could begin again with a blank canvas, but then would I pick the same artists?
And so this image will live in my mind, of how I tried. The experience will live in my heart of how one made me feel. The conversation will remind me of how love cannot be forced. I was silenced because my feelings didn’t matter. The anger and vexation that left the table will remind me I made the right decision. I was left seated at the table underneath the stars together with the ocean. I was deserted once again. For a split second I wished I had dined alone, because I did deserve all this, once upon a time.