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"In My Heart", by Leya
Copyright ©, Age 18
In his eyes I found my world. The last time I asked him when was he coming back, his eyes dazzled with sorrow, but he struggled to smile and whispered in my ear, "You won't miss me so bad, I know my vision is always in your mind". "And in my soul," I completed the thought. But something in my heart told me that it was different this time. It was not like his previous journeys to the wildest places in the world, to the center of the creepiest events in the most difficult circumstances, to bring news to the world.
It seemed as if he knew that this trip would be his last, to a country burning with revolution. "This is my job," he said when I asked him to try to abandon this mission, just this once. We'd only been married for seven months, with a deep love we'd had for each other since we were students at the same college. I remember his glances at me and his shy smiles back then. He didn't tell me about his love until we graduated from university – he with a certificate in journalism and I in arts--. That year, on my birthday -- and I still don't know how he managed to know when it was -- he sent me a bouquet of white and red roses with a little cute card that said, "On your birthday I have to confess the feelings I've hidden from you for a long time...You have to know that deep in my heart I know that I love you.. Yes, I do. I do love you, Lillian." I blushed when I read it and my heart pounded, and I knew that I loved him, too. How or why? I didn't know at that time the correct answers to these questions, but I was sure that he was my soul's mate whom I had been waiting for. We got married after three years of a blossoming relationship. He rose in my life like the sun and was, for me, like the fairy godmother answered my wishes even before I could voice them. As if he was a piece of my spirit for centuries. In reality, he was my spirit, my joy and my shelter. He was my life.
When the phone rang on that day, and his boss at work told me, with grief in his voice, about my love's death, there, far away from me... I didn't believe it, or didn't want to believe it. "I am so sorry, Madame," he said. "Sorry for what?" I asked myself. My husband didn't die. It is just a lie, a silly lie. His voice still sounds in my ears, I still can feel the tender kiss he gave me on my forehead before he left. His huge eyes surround me wherever I go. He was immortal, I believed.. But eventually I had to give up to the truth. This time it was true, my prayers couldn't change fate or prevent the destiny of coming.
After the funeral, a lone in the dark room, I stood in front of his big portrait, sobbing. But when I stared at his image, I was confident that he will always be here, alive in my heart, near me wherever I go, in my memory forever. I promised to raise his baby, still inside me, as he had wished, to bring up our child with all my love and care. I promised to be a source of honor for him even if he wasn't really alive, as everyone keeps telling me.
"I love you." I murmured with pain...
"I love you, too." The echo of his voice rang out inside of me...
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