The air around was stale. The dandelions were not fluttering in the air like flying petals anymore, and my fur coat was no longer needed in a temperature like this. I tossed my fur coat on the ground and walked up front.
I am back here, once again.
I took out the dusty photo I kept in the pocket of my jeans, and I held it up against the light, squinting in reflex as sun rays threaten to penetrate my eyes. In the photo, we were us. Everything was as it was. I still remember the ever so vivid traces of memory from that day. The sun was a soft, warm ball that kept the temperature cosy and we were on this very field, carrying trays and trays of pre-packed picnic boxes. I took out the picnic mat and we both lay there, my head in your lap, as we counted the flying petals of the dandelions in our hands. We chased the evening sun which I remembered was dyed in hues of red and orange, Along the chasing, we both fell and tumbled to the ground, laughing, at our attempt to even run among the tall grasses. I hate sweating, but I don’t think I even sweated a single bit that day. Time with you was just that magical.
I blew the dust off the photo and put it back in my jeans where it should be. I leaned back and allowed my body to hit the ground, knowing that the kindness of the grass mass would cushion my landing. And it did. Whoosh. I lay there for hours, keeping still and being muted, without a single movement or word. I lay there for hours and hours, until the sky was stygian dark and the crickets a chirping mess.
It’s been 5 years now, and I have not missed a single Saturday coming back here, coming to a place where I can still feel traces of you.
Some people call me crazy, some people tell me to move on, but I’d just say that all I am trying to do is keep you alive, even when life couldn’t.