Believe me
I first saw her up in a tree. Hands full of treats for a disheveled kitten whose howls broke my heart. I held onto the ladder as she climbed down, rescued animal in hand, praising her compassion.
She did not believe me.
“It’s just what anyone would do.”
The candlelight sparkled in her eyes on our fifth date. The ethereal way she tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her lip as she scanned the menu was breathtaking; my heart ached for her beauty. I told her this.
She did not believe me.
“Everyone looks better in the dark.”
Her best friend attempted suicide. She moved into her friend’s apartment, tending to her wounds physically and mentally. Running swiftly toward her pain, ensuring the healing love her friend did not believe existed was felt wholly and completely. I did not think a human could love another with such a profound and visible earnestness. I told her this.
She did not believe me.
“Everyone loves their friends.”
A monitor beeped and she opened her eyes. Sunken, hollow, reflecting the toll chemotherapy had taken on her body. She reached out and took my hand in hers, the corners of her mouth turned up in a soft, sad smile. A tear ran down her cheek. No woman in the world had the strength she did; she could fight it, beat it, and come back home.
She did not believe me.
I planted a garden in the dust she left behind.
A magnolia tree grew tall and blossomed, its limbs providing shade and a home for blue birds in the spring.
Flowers bloomed brighter and more beautiful than flowers should; colors not of this world emerging from their stems, greeting the sunshine.
A blackberry bush was plucked barren every summer by the neighborhood children.
And in the winter, the magnolia tree never surrendered to the packs of snow.
The dust she left behind
was more powerful
than my body that remained on Earth.
Thanks for the inspiration, @jonnysun.