The Beauty In Eternity

eternity

/ɪˈtəːnɪti,iːˈtəːnɪti/

noun

Infinite or unending time.

“Their love was sealed for eternity"

It's not hard to find the beauty in eternity when you have a soulmate to share it with.

That's the beauty in it—a forever promise with the person you love; the one who has deep rooted residence in your heart.

When you have the one; eternity is beautiful. It's captivating, and it's everything you could ever possibly imagine.

But when that person is suddenly gone, and the promise ceases to exist; eternity is simply—unbearable.

2 years, five months later.

(January 4th)

"Where do you want me to put the light?" he yells from the hallway.

"In the bedroom, beside the closet!" I reply breathlessly, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.

I unpack yet another box of clothes, folding them into a pile neatly on the new marble counter—it's never ending; the move is beginning to seem like more hassle than it's worth.

"That looks like hard work you're doing there, Mar." he chuckles, leaning against the doorway; his contagious smile immediately lighting up the room.

"I'll have you know it's very tiresome." I shrug, scrunching up my nose.

How I've missed him.

"Oh, is that so?" he raises his brow smugly, wiping the excess paint onto his shirt.

"Uh huh,"

"I see how it is," he grins, striding towards me and picking me up off of the floor—throwing me onto the couch with one sweep.

"Stop, you're getting it all over me!" I laugh as I kick my legs.

"I am?" he questions smugly, moving his paint covered hands down my cheek. "Oops, my bad."

I gasp as he picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder, "Time to help me paint and stop pretending to unpack boxes," he laughs playfully; finding himself so utterly amusing.

I kick my legs against his chest in protest as he carries me into the opposite room, the fumes of the fresh coat of white paint immediately overwhelming my senses.

"You're such a pain in the ass," he grins, placing me down and kissing my forehead.

"I'm a pretty loveable pain in the ass, though—right?" I smirk, poking his chest playfully.

"I missed you." he smiles, placing his hand on my cheek, his thumb gently grazing my lips.

I smile up at him with sheer adoration as I feel cheerful again for the first time in weeks, today is one of the better days. I wipe the excess paint from his cheek, perching myself up on my toes and bringing his lips to mine.

"I missed you too, Elijah."

Two years, five months—15 days.

That's how long it's been since that night.

The night where Mason and I said our goodbyes, and the promises of reuniting were made. That's how long it's been since I lost the only part of myself that remained intact and pure. Since I looked into his golden speckled eyes as they cried for our shattered affinity. And since I felt myself break into a million agonising pieces that only he could repair.

One year, four months—10 days.

That's how much of that time I spent waiting for him to come back to me. How long I waited for a call; for a text, an email, a sign that he was alive—a reminder that he hadn't forgotten about me, and that my pain was valid.

That's how long I lied to myself. I was in denial for so long, unable to process the agonising absence of his presence.

That's how long I spent trying everything I could to bring him back. After a year of waiting, I impulsively booked a flight to Italy. I promised myself I wouldn't return home without him; I travelled to where I had left him—in that small hotel room, then to the warehouse, which had been completely cleared out. I travelled the unfamiliar city for as long as I could bare, before being forced to leave and fly back home, alone. Although it wasn't home anymore.

That, is how long I cried myself to sleep, isolating myself from those who cared about me and wanted to help, they wanted to show me that he was gone, but how could I believe them? Of all the people in my life, I never thought he would be the one to leave.

Seven months, 24 days.

That's how long it took for me to grieve him and our love after painful realisation that he wasn't coming back for me. To grieve what we had, and mourn the time I had spent waiting for him to walk through the door and hold me again, to tease me about how alike we are now in the things we say, and how stubborn I can be. That's how long it took for everybody to convince me that after almost two years... he was truly gone.

I still wait, sometimes, for him to mock me when I curse more than usual. I would almost anticipate his sarcastic commentary whenever I played my music, or put on a record. And when it didn't come, my heart became heavier. He is in everything I do, and everything I love; he's impossible to escape.

If only our love could've disappeared as easily as he, because for every day I came closer to realisation—the pain grew heavier; until it crushed my every hope.

Five months, 11 days.

That's how long I've let myself care for another man. How long I've opened myself up to another, after losing the one I thought I'd marry.

I still can't talk about my feelings, I can't bring myself to show too much emotion or I panic. I can't hear him tell me how he'll never leave without starting an argument; because the one I thought would never break me, destroyed me. I don't think of him now, it still pains me to—Elijah understands that.

After two years of grieving what I can only assume as the death of the man I gave my soul to, I've started to live again. I know in my heart that if he had survived, he would have found a way of contacting me—of telling me that he's okay. I know in my soul, in the gap where he will always have residence, that he's gone. And after two years, countless therapy sessions, and several dark spirals; I'm finally starting to breathe again.

Steve looked for him. He has his connections—although connections to whom, I have no idea. He searched for months after me crying and begging him to take the pain away, and it came up empty. Nobody had heard of him, his cellphone was disconnected, no credit card payments—he just disappeared. And deep down I know. We've grown much closer the past two years, we needed someone to lean on, and as unsteady as we both were; we found strength in one another. He knows he can't replace the bond Carol and I had, he knows that the relationship we shared was different—but despite that, he's the only male role model I've ever had, and one of the most important people in my life.

I changed therapists, and found myself one who seemed to understand; who helped. One who didn't contradict me or invalidate my feelings and my grief—one who even cried with me as I finally opened up about my story. Through the darkest time in my life, I found support in the most unlikely place—in a man who also hid his broken soul, in Elijah.

Because he was simply grieving, too.

Others tried to help, but life gets in the way. There's only so many times one can try to help another before they become too tired. Some of us drifted, and some of us remain closer than ever.

In the midst of the grief and the tragedy, I threw myself into my studies and began a paid internship at the local hospital after graduation. Along with Matt—who decided a career change was exactly what he needed. We see one other on a daily basis and our friendship has grown drastically—as has his and Elijah's. I've found solace in the joint journey with Matt. After everything, I seemed to grow prone to panic attacks and became drastically more anxious in every day situations. But with the help of him and our amazing hospital team; I'm doing so much better.

Steve is slowly finding his feet again, he also visits a therapist regularly and is beginning to open up about his loss. He visits Carol's grave whenever he can and is dealing with his grief, he's dealing with it as well as he can—although her closet still remains intact, untouched... as does her perfume cabinet, and all of her other belongings. He can't bring himself to move them.

The two children are finding their feet again, too. Isabella started elementary school last year shortly after her fifth birthday, and Dahlia is growing into an amazing, beautiful young girl—just like her mother. Although she doesn't remember her, and only had the chance to meet her once—Carol will forever be a part of her life; I'll make sure of it.

After a couple of moves with my mom, I eventually moved into an apartment of my own with the help of Elijah, one which is almost only ten minutes from the hospital, and finally, I find happiness in the little things again. I enjoy my morning coffee and my walk through the city—I enjoy taking Isabella and Dahlia for our weekly lunch, and spending as much time with them as possible. I find happiness in those girls, they give me purpose; and it seems that they were not my mothers saving grace—but instead my own.

Doing this without him by my side is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Crying when he was the only one I wanted to wipe my tears—only to remember that he's the one who's absence I'm grieving. I wish he could see me getting better, growing to love the things I did before again. I'm not angry at him anymore, I'm just in pain. I don't know if I'll ever be able to step foot in that beautiful field again, or open the box from the back of the closet. I don't know if I'll ever be able to walk by a broken plant on the sidewalk or watch the rain fall without remembering us. I don't think I'll ever be able to hear his name without pain coursing through my veins; but no matter how much I miss him, and I think I always will—I'm alive, and I had to be reminded of that. I just wish he could see me now, I hope he'd be proud of me.

I'm homesick for him, and for us—the fire that he once seen burn so brightly inside of me weakened, until it was only a mere ember of our eternal promise. And then suddenly, it was gone. Extinguished by the careless whisper of the deafening ocean as it crashed harshly upon my mind.

It haunts me at the most unexpected times, during a 'good day' where I can get out of bed and walk to the coffee shop for my morning caffeine. I feel fine, until I catch a glimpse of the flowers which grow in sparse yet graceful clusters through the cracks of the ground. And then it all comes rushing back, all of it, at once. And so I miss the times when it was just that, when a flower was simply a flower, and didn't have the ability to make my breath catch in my throat.

There were times I feared I would never smile again; or laugh, enjoy my favorite book or want to spend time with my friends. I feared that I would never pull myself out of the dark spiral I had thrown myself into. But one person never gave up on me, they managed to make me smile again when I had no hope. He made me feel like I was somebody worth knowing—worth loving.

In my darkest times, in my most awful states; I had one person who would cradle me as I sobbed, and comfort me as I begged for the hurt to stop. And for that, I owe Elijah everything.

The pain may last forever, it may even be eternal; but in the pain, basks the love that we once shared. And I will remember that, eternally.