The sky swirled serenely; a kaleidoscope of azure blues, white streaks, resplendent rays of light were
splattered on this canvas – painting warmth and forming a surreal image of pure happiness. The birds
chirped; the wind whistled a melody of perfect cadences.
I looked down at my hands (itching), then my legs (blistered); I looked around the park. Grass – dry; trees –
bare; people – loud; but the lake, blue, peaceful, tranquil – an unmoving regal body of water, dotted with
snow-coloured swans. An undying love burned within them for life, their orange beaks and long necks
intertwining – hearts. Passion. Desire. Love.
Everywhere.
I continued my stroll, searching for my swan, my one… Where?
My eyes glanced beneath the vivid pink of the cherry blossom where we first met. My wife’s silhouette,
framed by the cavorting cascade of sakura petals, was like a brushstroke in a memory I never wanted to
fade.
But she wasn’t there.
Her aroma clung to the wind like a forgotten whisper. The seat was empty.
My phone rang.
Buzzing violently in my pocket, it destroyed the peace like a scream in a library. I answered without
checking the screen. A voice. Hollow. Professional. From the hospital.
‘What happened? Where is she?’ I rasped.
‘…’ silence. No answer. No reply. No response.
‘She’s gone.’ the voice bled, ripping my eardrums, forcing those words down them.
The air changed. The world lost colour, like someone drained the scene of its warmth. Monochrome. The
heavens opened and dispersed a torrent of rain. The birds no longer sang; the wind no longer whistled.
Just silence – heavy, choking, final.
My saliva was bitter; a poison that I could not bring myself to swallow. An emotion I could not push down,
and hide. Fear. My lip quivered as I put my hands together and prayed to the Lord for the possibility that it
may not be true. My only comfort had been taken from me. My only happiness, shattered, ripped apart,
annihilated. Heavy rain poured; the park, an ocean of mud and grass. The sky leered at me, mocking my
tears with its own; the bleak wind thrusting the bitter torrent of rainfall into my eyes.
I dropped down on the bench, imagining my wife: her facetious and youthful smile, her gorgeous light
brown eyes, her luscious wavy hair, her truly horrendous spelling that I was forced to endure. I sat and
reminisced; I pictured her head down on my shoulder, mine on hers – her Victoria Secret perfume wafting
from her elegant cotton dress. My lips pursed as I caught myself smiling with her by my side, I just sat
there, in that perfect place – no words, no dialogue, just happiness. The clouds parted, to reveal the sun.
She was really gone. The sudden realisation that I could never lay my head on hers, warmly embrace her,
talk to her well beyond midnight as if we were teenagers, hit me.
My swan, my one…
Gone.