Changing Seasons

A winter night.
The figure lies huddled in bed. Curled up in a fetal position. The room is in darkness, but for a candle. The figure is not asleep – the eyes are open. Staring endlessly at the candle, and the visage that it sees in the dancing firelight. A face that haunts him. With eyes that seem to pierce through to his soul, hair so black and lustrous. He hears her laugh. And shivers uncontrollably as he feels her phantom figures wound around his. He remembers…

A spring morning.
A stroll in the garden. The sun is bright in a cloudless sky. Yet, the air is cool. The flowers are in full bloom, preening themselves to every passerby. The trees are covered with leaves. The cries and songs of myriad birds fill the air. There is a song in his heart too. For he is with her.
Just Ahead, he sees another couple. The boy’s arm is casually draped across the girl’s shoulders, and their heads are almost touching. He decides to follow their lead and suddenly stoops to the ground, plucks out a red rose, and gives it to her. She accepts it with a smile. He reaches out for her hand. She hesitates, then holds his firmly. Warmth, joy, and happiness fill him.

A summer afternoon.
Outside, the sun is merciless. However, inside, neither of them notices. Soft music plays on the stereo. (The inert figure smiles as it remembers – he had given up his rock and roll for her!) They are engrossed in a game of Scrabble. Words of love on the board. He looks at her. She is seated across from him. Her head is bent, her long hair falling in waves around her face. Her forehead is furrowed in thought. Her foot taps rhythmically on the floor. A sudden burst of overpowering happiness gushes through him. He stretches out, lifts her chin. His fingers gently caress her cheek and brush aside a lock of hair. He leans forward and gives her a gentle kiss. She blushes and smiles.

An autumn evening.
A posh restaurant. Candle-lit tables. Final touches to his hair. He is dressed in his best. She is late. A woman’s age-old time-tested prerogative. He looks at the ring. Polishes it again. Grins bashfully to himself and replaces it in his pocket.
She arrives. He stares at her openly. She has never looked more beautiful. And he knows it is for him. She sits and apologizes for coming late. He forgives her. He can forgive her anything. 
The waiter appears with the wine. The glasses are poured. He watches the candlelight flickering in her dark eyes as she sips the wine. His heart is full of love. He decides to take the plunge. And he asks her, “Can I hold your hand?”
She laughs. Replies “Sure!”
Fingers entwine. He feels the warmth. And her pulse beating. His heart feels as if it will burst. He stares once again into her liquid eyes. And drowns.
His other hand reaches into his pocket. Takes out the ring. He asks, “Will you marry me?”
Her fingers stiffen in his. Then slowly withdraw. The warmth is gone. “I’m sorry, but I don’t love you. Can’t we just be friends?”
The dreams shatter. The castles crumble. And are motes of dust scattered in the autumn wind.


Winter arrives.