Viny looked at the stone marble. He looked at it as if he was trying to imprint everything into memory; maybe he was. The white of the stone, the hard curves, the gleaming surface. When he thinks about gleaming surface, he remembers her. She was not a polished surface that shone, but he likens her to it.
Or sometimes, many times, he likens her to the first ray of sunlight that filters into ones room in the morning.
Her smile, when she stretches her mouth and a dimple makes itself known is the very spectacle of his day. It doesn't make his days all better but he testifies to all his friends and strangers that it sure contributes massively to the strange beat his heart makes; to his inner joy.
Her eyelashes that flutters as she puts her gaze on him sends the most wicked kind of electric shock that runs in zigzag through his body, leaving him at that moment completely speechless as he chases after that trill.
Her face nowadays becomes blurry, a jumbled mess anytime he tries to conjure her up.Her bright smile was fading out of memory, the flutter of those lashes as her eyes looks up in the most innocent erotic way was fading.
This memory leak was not something he ever planned. It was just his subconsciousness trying to protect him in the only way it knows how, protecting him from feeling the guilt that almost consumed his whole being. He was still trying to recover, so his subconscious reminds him like a dutifully mother does to her deformed son, "it was not your fault".
Many at times though, it doesn't stick; the comfort. Especially when he is in the confines of his home, or in the bar, or taking a stroll or at work. Or at sleep.
He didn't read those signs. They were so glaring, almost to the point of blinding the eyes, he shut those eyes. He shut those eyes, enjoying more the bliss of having her scent near him. If only he had tried, only a little, maybe, just maybe, she would still be beside him, at night, on his bed, her doe eyes marking him.
Maybe blindness wasn't his only fault, to want it all, maybe that was another fault; selfishness. Thinking that his happiness equates to her's. If he was happy, then she was. The way she groans out his name in pleasure couldn't have been nothing.
Nowadays, in addition to his memory leak, he thinks a lots. A lot of if only and only if's crosses through his mind in torrents. It was not his fault but if only he had paid more attention to her instead of his joy.
Paid attention to the redness of her brown eyes in the middle of the day or the lack of sunshine in her recent smiles. If only. To her fake laughter in his normal jokes and her faraway look.
If only he had thought as he did now, then, she will still be beside him, her sultry fragrance will still be enveloping him and not enveloping another.
Because now, his baby is in the arms of another, her fragrance wrapping itself around her coffin, those pretty eyelashes no longer fluttering as lies six-feet below the ground. And as Viny looks at the head stone with her name engraved both in stone and mind in cursive, he says out loud with a chocked sob, "If only".
