Epitaph

By: Aedra Delgado

He touched the stone, slow and delicately, almost feeling in his fingertips the meaning
of that name. That day, it was raining more than any other in the month, and the drops
fell down his face, washing out the sour tears and dunking his fancy clothes. He kept
touching her name, the date of birth and death, and the few, meaningless words
someone would ever remember her for. He would remember, for so much more.
When he stood up, his soul fell so much heavier, as if he was carrying a ton of steel and
not his usual soul. His eyes never stopped watching the name, trying to make the words
change to a different name, not hers… He didn’t want to believe it. The stone was too
common. Didn’t she deserve more? Imported, fancy, white marble? He tried to give
that, but her family rejected him. Maybe, if they accepted it, he could have expressed
how much he loved her, and give his heart some peace. It didn’t matter anymore, as he
was standing, under the rain, dressed in black, with white roses in one hand and his
broken heart in the other.
Always late…
He fell in love with her through a window, same office, but she used to work at the
other side. She always receiving and making calls, taking mountains of paper from a
desk to another and rubbing her own feet at the end of the day. He never approached
her, he couldn’t; he was her boss. So, he looked. She never let anyone know how tired
she was at that extra shifts and left so late she maybe missed the last train. He knew how
she liked coffee, cream, no sugar. Her voice was a delight, always sweet and respectful,
especially when she said him his wife was on the line.
He never looked at her straight in the eyes, never offered to take her home if it was
raining, because he was scared. He never asked why she had all those medications with
her, why she was pale, why she cried when she thought nobody was around… He was
too scared to love her even more.
If he could rewind time, he’d take her hand, maybe win her hand and give her the most
amazing time on earth before her death. Why he fought his own heart for so long?
Fidelity, a meaningless word if it wasn’t directed at the right person.
He was in front of a common, cold and wet stone, holding the most beautiful name and
the saddest epitaph at the same time. He finally was in front the women he loved with
his whole heart, but it was too late… He decided he was burying his heart with her; he’d
say all the things he didn’t while she could listen. He was willing to pretend she was
looking at him, listening his dying heart.
It seemed like the rain wouldn’t stop anytime soon, and it was starting to get late. His
wife was probably calling him, maybe he should take her to dinner anywhere to avoid
questions… He had to leave. So, he left. In every step he was sending farewells to her
and his buried heart. Now, he had to lead to a meaningless life.