Partners, A Pairing

He found himself admiring a plethora of metamorphosis, surrounding him. The presentation was an ostentatious show that she had loved to view, ritually year after year. It appeared as though fall held a rite of passage, falling within the calendar marking, methodically. It was a season of oppression commencing, one in which had been her most favorable, admiring the swelter of summer, succumbing to autumns graceful anticipation of an earned hibernation. 1

They had met in the summer of nineteen hundred forty seven, immediately merging as one, melting their individual isolation, becoming partners, a pairing of souls vowing their coupled ness forever, never thinking of a separation that age ultimately provides. She had been fourteen when they met, he fifteen and one quarter. Their courtship overshadowed and outlasted the others they had viewed. This was when they knew their love, was a bond, with no deterrents as many of their acquaintances were dividing and then re-pairing. The merging of their union began on Saturday, September the thirtieth, nineteen hundred forty seven, two months anniversary to their introduction. The invitations were of standard card stock with a shading tone of lavender, void were roses of abundance, burgundy petals embellished the page of proposed pledges time dated. 2

From the onset of their merger, he marinated her with care, repeatedly for he knew that she did not retain a belief that her worth, to be of wealth from a lifetime of misgivings. She held a childlike quality when she danced beneath moon freely, not knowing he was present. He often hid behind the sprawling tree, thankful for the front row viewing as she often told her secrets to a three quarter moon, allowing him to know what her heart truly desired of him. She had always wondered excessively as to how he was able to provide the dreams that she had wished upon the velvety night sun.3

He now sits upon the once stately porch, viewing the swing of a smooth cherry oak finish that is just shy of his own age. He remembers the time that he had whittled it, laboriously for the ornate beauty that would enjoy the soothing lull, more hours than he had ever imagined. The two-story old farm home had been drenched with a pastel of green, slightly minted with accented clapboards, dusted a subtle cashmere ivory, tinged plum. Her style of decoration had always intrigued him and encouraged him to put forth more effort; whittling an excessive amount of goodies, for her to decorate. She was artist that had never found her canvas, for they were too costly. 4

He had often found her admiring, the seasonal transformation within the oversized arms of the well-constructed, sturdy swing. She was lulled by the rivulet, running with continuity, relocating itself while mirroring the beauty of the hiatus that summer fell into. 5

While falling into reminiscence, he penned a letter, of dedication:6

My dearest Josephine,7

Dedicated to you, are the respirations I have left to respire. I dream of your cashmere tones and high bones of pastel. I swallow deeply, as I sense your presence beating within, the palpitations of my heart. I long to be within, the easiness of the memories that I currently call upon. The details drain me darling, delightfully. I envision your silhouette, praying beneath the moon of three quarter strength for your wishes to emerge, from their dreamlike state. And they did my dear Josephine, your dreams of years ago, I recall with a sensation of tearing.8

My dearest partner, I pray humbly that your rest is of peacefulness. I pray that you continue to follow me throughout my days, giggling shyly with your eyes falling as I turn to catch your smile. I pray that you have waited for my arrival, to share the rest of our lives together.9

Josephine my love, the ink has dried, while penning my collected epistles. Please know my beautiful partner that our ends have not met their meeting but they soon shall be connected once more.10

Devoted to your memory,11

Jonathon12

He placed his penning aside and sipped the lemonade from the same old frothy mug of days gone by. It appeared bitterer as though the lemons were decayed, void of her technique of squeezing and manipulation. Sourly, he began to whittle once more as a tune he has not heard in more than a decade pierced his approaching deafness. His foot tapped with a pace that has slowed over the years. However, he retains the ability to whittle and tap consistently. The recorded rhythm was of love between him and his simplistic, ornate and beautiful wife that passed eleven years previous of today’s remembrance.13

He often waited for her to trespass within his moments, at times unpredicted as that of the un-forecast rain, encouraging him to authorize time and engage the memories. Within the ambience of reminiscence, his vision progressively became unclear. His eyes swelled and reddened, often from the memory of events that he was revisiting yet the fogginess of vision was more so, void of event or cause. He yearned for the retrospection of the days, that he had marinated her with care to become a reality once more. However, his fantasies dissolve within the darkening of the day, disintegrating the illusion. 14

The daystar yawned expansive and wearily descended, sending him indoors to the scent of gingered apple pie, wafting from the kitchen. He attempted to walk quickly but the limp he had inherited from the war that he had not supported, hindered his speed. He continued struggling and followed the scent to the kitchen that lost its aromatic appeal a decade ago. He collapsed with confusion, into the coffee, tea and dinner soaked chair, attempting to console his aging memories that did not desire repression. He covered his face that now showed its age, wrinkled with emotions that had never been ironed, since losing his beautiful wife. He sank further into the chair ignoring the hardness that enhanced the pain of his war riddled back. 15

The thinness of his fingers caught his attention as he prayed silently, for his loneliness to be eliminated. He twisted the twine of silver slowly as his weariness fell into an outcry. He cried erratically for what seemed to be of endless hours. He raised his hands, he shouted, he whispered as the beat of repetition was slowing, within his troubled heart. His angered state fell into a passive state as his head sank within his arms attempting to console himself. He prayed once more before allowing his swollen eyelids to distance the overhead light, his prayer was granted peacefully. He drifted softly into a slumber, relaxing his weary mind and tensed position. He slumped further, melding with the chair; meeting the destiny he longed for, within the arms of his loving wife. Their individual isolation now merged and melted, becoming partners once more. Their pairing of souls once again vowing their togetherness of coupled ness forever; as his metamorphosis took place within her most favorable season.16