Memories of him were sun-soaked and warm. Shout-from-a-mountain-top happy little thoughts and feelings. The expanse of a picnic blanket covered with goodies and treats; smiles that stretched for miles across faces. The bad times were drenched in darkness and torrents of rain. It couldn’t have possibly rained every time an argument arose but each unhappy memory is painted in shades of blue and black--a monsoon. Rose colored hindsight leaves me feeling as though these times of strife and downpour were few and far between, though it’s likely that isn’t the case. It’s nice, I think, to remember someone better than they were--the yellows and oranges and pinks of a relationship rather than the murky underbelly. To recall less-than-savory times seems like wallowing in pain that’s long gone. This long gone pain doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. A small tinge of a love-lost, a slight pang of sadness on an evening with one too many hours spent alone. For the most part, it’s gratitude. The grace of being able to understand that it is indeed better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. A love like ours, despite the occasional deluge, was worth the sting in the end. A love like ours will transcend the toils of time and morph into something more--something better. There is no shadow of a doubt when considering the future of he and I. We will always be linked, now and forever. Much like an atom, love cannot be created or destroyed. Instead it will rearrange itself like letters in the alphabet to form something new. Something all our own, with less drizzle and more bliss. Something green.
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