Fly, Butterfly. Fly.

You always knew that you were going to die. But I don't remember you telling me. Maybe because you knew I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I knew.

Your silence is why I am lying on the cold floor of your gravestone, hoping to catch a sniff of your scent.

It disappeared from your clothes a while ago. Now they stink.

Your clothes are not the only things that no longer bear your scent. I can no longer perceive your scent in the room we shared.

I kept the windows locked and the curtains drawn, hoping that would preserve your scent, but time did what it does best. It swept away everything that had your touch and scent on it.

The closest I can now get to you is to lie on this gravestone. I have dug holes into the solid floor with tears that, if collected over the years, could fill the largest ocean.

I remember the day you left this world like it was yesterday. I remember the rain coursing down your face and your trembling hands trying unsuccessfully to wipe the rivulets off your eyes so you could see me.

“Wait here for me, okay?” You whispered, holding onto my cheeks with so much affection. I should have told you not to go. I should have tried my best to hide the pain. I should have pulled you towards me, but instead I watched you leave. Your broad shoulder as you ran down the alley, not knowing that was the last time I would see you alive. I never knew that the smile you gave me would be the last I ever got from you.

I caress the skin of the smoothed floor of your gravestone and imagine I am caressing you. Your dark, smooth skin, which was always warm. They were warm that evening, even though it was raining.

But they weren’t when I hugged you in the alley after I discovered your body. Your skin was so cold, and you remained deaf to my words. You heard me scream, but you wouldn’t pay me any attention.

I even put my mouth in your ear and whispered that name. The one that often made you giggle and laugh out loud. The one that often made you carry me up and twirl me around until I giggled and burst into laughter.

None of these happened. None of it. You remained where you had been found, by the shore of the river. Cold as a refrigerated fish. Your lips pale, and your hands clutching tightly to the sachet.

Why?

Why?

Why didn’t you tell me you were going to die?

Why were you so selfish?

Why?

Why did you make me fall in love with you?

“Ah,” I cry out loudly into the concrete and bang my chest hard as if that would get the pain lodged somewhere deep in my heart to leave.

It remains as it has always been since your death. It sinks its claws deep into my chest, sucking at my life.

The walls of the cemetery swallow my cries.

Can you hear my cries?

Is this what you hoped for? That years later, I will be stuck in that night over and over again, wondering what I could have done differently. Hating myself for not seeing what everyone saw and for being so selfish that I didn’t even know what you were trying to say with your eyes every time you looked at me.

I gasp out loud as my cries lose their voice and become silent. Darkness witnesses it all. It is not a strange sight, though. It has watched me do this on too many nights.

I crawl deeper into the floor, hoping it will warm me.

I should have seen it in the way you stared at me that evening. You kept hugging and kissing me. I believe the pain reliever had just been an excuse, your excuse.

I was so stupid for not seeing it. You have broken me. You took my light and life with you when you jumped in that river. And your answer? The letter in the sachet. Oh, and you got the pain reliever. Your pitiful attempt at a joke. You have always been able to tell them. Stupid jokes I laugh at. I wasn’t laughing that night. I stood still as they dragged your body out. You looked small, not at all like the man who cuddled me to sleep for ten years of my life.

The sachet was held tightly in your hand, and no one could get it out. But when I finally got it out of your hand, your hand fell limply to your side. It was like you were waiting for the one who the sachet was for to get it.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I rise up from your gravestone, and immediately the cold assaults me. I hug my arms around myself.

Then I bring the rumpled letter out of my pockets and, reading through it one last time, lay it on your coffin. I stare at your picture, the one I forced you to take during our trip. The one you had grudgingly taken. The only picture I have of you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I stare at the washed-up picture for a while longer, swallow my cries, and, turning back, walk away from our forty-year relationship.

“Till next year, madam?” The guard, who had gotten used to seeing me every year, asked.

“I won't be returning.” I replied. Then I added, “At least not like this.”

He stared me up and down and gave a nod. I am sure he did not understand at that time. But he later came to understand days later when I was laid to rest beside my husband.

The letter, which had miraculously remained on the tombstone, read...

My dear Lulu

I am sorry

I am sick.

I found out the same day I met you.

I was on my way from the hospital when I saw you dancing under the fat mango tree in the rain.

Almost immediately, I forgot the doctor’s report.

I was mesmerized by your beauty, but much more by your childlike spirit.

I was selfish, love

I couldn’t tell you.

You were my slice of heaven given on a platter of life.

I knew I had to marry you.

And I did.

Oh, what a beautiful day it was.

Although I spewed blood all over the toilet floor, I laughed watching your twirl in my arms as we danced.

Truthfully, you must be the reason I have lived this long.

Sorry love

It was hard not telling you.

I was selfish.

I was wicked.

But remember the day you told me about your dad?

The day you said you lost your dad to a terminal disease and how you never want to go through that again

I should have divorced you then and there, but I was too selfish.

You are the best gift God has ever given me.

We didn’t have much, but you never complained.

I spent almost all I had on hospital bills, and you, thinking I didn’t have a job, took care of us.

Thank you.

Yesterday, I visited the doctors. They said I had two months to live, and those two months will be spent relying on life support.

I cannot do that to you, my love.

I just can't.

The money we would spend,

You having to go through it again

I can't do this to you, my love.

And so, today was the last day I had with you.

We had a date after a long time of not having one.

Truthfully, all my bathroom breaks were to go and get my smile back on my face.

I was in so much pain.

I hated seeing that confusing look on your face as I returned.

I tried to get you to smile.

And you did.

But I was in so much pain.

And that was why I knew it was time.

I didn’t want to go back home with you because I knew it would kill my bravery.

I couldn’t smell your scent in our home.

I couldn’t see your scattered shoes and clothes.

I just couldn’t go back home with you.

Then you got cramps, and that was all I needed.

I hugged you tight many times.

Hiding my tears behind your back

I kissed your lips again and again, but it was not enough, and just as I was about to break,

I found the strength to leave.

I turned my back and never looked back.

I couldn't

If I did, I would never be able to do this.

I got the pain reliever, my love.

And right now, I am standing on the bank of this river.

Sorry for everything.

Sorry for being selfish.

Sorry for hurting you.

I am so sorry.

I love you.

My love, my Lulu, I am scared.

Very scared

I don’t want to do this.

But I would

If it will all end in death

Then let me end it now.

There is no place to keep this letter, but I will hold on to it, hoping you get it.

I am so sorry.

To my love, my Lulu

This is me, your butterfly, flying to the clouds to wait for you.

Don’t come too soon.

Take your time.

And please, be happy.