"...Come away with me and I will write you a song..."
I wished that I could fly away rather than sit here on the grass with each blade holding a drop of fresh morning dew. Its dampness feels like an incompletely dried blanket spread out on my old bed at home. A painful strum from a guitar that sounds like the wood it was fashioned from was lacquered and polished with tears emanates from a car radio across the street. It's the only vehicle parked in the empty looping parking lot at the beach. The mournful strains fill the still morning air and it's echo bounces off of every solid structure nearby. I see the soft light from the break of day cast it's glow from behind me and I wish it would go away, it only means that my heartbreak is truly a reality and not something I conjured from an earlier meal of greasy cheeseburgers. For a moment I think that I should walk across the street to the beach and sit on the cool sand until the day becomes too unbearable. Then I think, about the difference, whether its grass or sand, the melancholy texture is the same. Almost as if the gods read my thoughts, a gentle misty rain falls and leaves a reminder of its intent by sitting on the fabric of my clothing and not soaking itself into it. It feels like a symbol of some kind telling me that sadness is a fabric of life but that we need not be inundated by it. Considering my state of being in the present tense, I wish I could believe it was so, I really do need to believe in something. The day hasn't taken its place on the stage yet, the little rays it gives me from its sunrise of early light is the warm-up act; what a walk it has been from the depths of Manoa Valley to Kapiolani Park. I fevered up a sweat wearing my black flannel shirt and dark jeans but there were reasons why I chose that fashion get up, it would guard every car and passerby against seeing my dilemma. It would prevent them from becoming good citizens and trying to talk me out of my journey but the timing could not have been more perfect. The sun is nearly past its path over the ridge of Diamond head and slumber is nearly prepared to overtake me but I keep holding on. I've missed him so much and I couldn't wait any longer, I had to be with him and this was the only way I knew how to make him come to me.
The park and the beach are now fully immersed in the basking warmth of the sun and life is everywhere. You can see it, you can hear it, and it is undeniable that you can feel it. Not me, I'm losing my self to a deep slumber and the world is getting old and dark while the day is new. I remember I felt strange as I fell away into a dream without the sound of my own snore which always jerked me awake. It's so peaceful, so simple when this kind of sleep takes you away. This must be my karma to go this way without ever having seen him.
............
"Helen, wake up," the voice was distant but I kept hearing it until it became as close as my own sorrow. "Helen? Hey sleepyhead, wake up." Such a gentle voice filled with compassion. My eyes open slowly and a face comes into focus, it's him, he came.
"Kalani," hearing myself pronounce his name sounded more like a statement as opposed to a question. He reached his hands out to help me stand and I instantly melted into his arms and cried. "I missed you so much, I couldn't stand it. I had to come here and wait for you, I'm sorry Kalani."
"It's alright," he reassured me as he brushed my hair away from my face. "Are you ready?"
I looked back on the grass at the body that used to be mine as it lay there with the dark stains on the long sleeves of my equally dark flannel shirt. It was a great way to hide the deep slits from the pocket of my elbows down to my wrists. I didn't cut them too deep, otherwise, I would not have been able to make the journey to Kapiolani Park. Luckily, I planned everything well in advance so that I'd be dead by the time I got here. I couldn't live another moment without Kalani after losing him to a hit and run accident, he didn't deserve to die that way.
Please understand that this is journey is mine, not anyone else's.
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