His Reflection Speaks To You
Part II
August 9, 1877
Four months ago…
"…It was time I left; I could not bear the pain any longer. I am sorry I did not say goodbye.
Do not worry, my dear. Do not cry over me. I promise you, I am happier this way. I have many regrets; I have made mistakes I desperately wish to take back. But what is done is done, there is nothing you or I or anyone can do to change the past.
I would do anything to hold you in my arms again, but there are some things that I just cannot explain. My time had come. You must know that I have and will always love you with all my heart.
I’ll be here when you need me, which is another promise I make.
Forever yours,
Matthew"
My weak knees could no longer hold the weight of my small body and I collapsed. Matthew… At first I could not comprehend what had happened. My mind was overcome by indescribable, intense feelings. I just sat there, ignoring the pain in my awkwardly bent ankle, with the letter in hand for what seemed like ages.
I was brought back to reality when I felt a single drop of an unknown liquid drip onto my bare leg and run down to my knee. I was crying. Suddenly, tears were escaping my eyes at great speed and I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Matthew was dead. The love of my life had killed himself. He was gone and I was alone. I was filled with sudden rage and hatred for him. How could he?
“No, no, no, no, NO!” I screamed grabbing the thing nearest to me and chucking it at the wall. I tore the sheets, broke every valuable antique in sight, ripped apart books and finally shattered the mirror I adored with my tightly clenched fist. And then I stopped. I stared at my bleeding knuckles then at the pathetic mess of a person in the mirror.
I’ll be here when you need me. A voice cooed. I whipped around looking frantically for the source of that all too familiar voice.
I promise… I slowly turned to face the cracked mirror and my breath caught in my throat. “Matthew,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes bulging. He stood behind me leaning against the far wall casually, as if what was happening was completely normal. Like he hadn’t just killed himself.
A sad smile spread across his face and then he disappeared. I stood there staring at the reflection of the empty space in front of the wall, half expecting him to return.
~
Two months ago…
Every mirror in the house was now covered with old sheets as was glass furniture and doors that created even the slightest bit of reflection. I couldn’t bear to see him again. Not ever again. It was far too painful. I was too terrified to look into a mirror again. I had not seen myself in weeks, not even to groom. Certainly I was a mess, but I was beyond the point of caring. My every moment was spent inside my home, mourning over what I had lost, what could never be replaced. Most nights, I sat in different rooms, looking at photographs of him. But never in my room. I refused to go in there after his death. All the mirrors in there had been left as they were, uncovered, welcoming.
Four months ago…
"…It was time I left; I could not bear the pain any longer. I am sorry I did not say goodbye.
Do not worry, my dear. Do not cry over me. I promise you, I am happier this way. I have many regrets; I have made mistakes I desperately wish to take back. But what is done is done, there is nothing you or I or anyone can do to change the past.
I would do anything to hold you in my arms again, but there are some things that I just cannot explain. My time had come. You must know that I have and will always love you with all my heart.
I’ll be here when you need me, which is another promise I make.
Forever yours,
Matthew"
My weak knees could no longer hold the weight of my small body and I collapsed. Matthew… At first I could not comprehend what had happened. My mind was overcome by indescribable, intense feelings. I just sat there, ignoring the pain in my awkwardly bent ankle, with the letter in hand for what seemed like ages.
I was brought back to reality when I felt a single drop of an unknown liquid drip onto my bare leg and run down to my knee. I was crying. Suddenly, tears were escaping my eyes at great speed and I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Matthew was dead. The love of my life had killed himself. He was gone and I was alone. I was filled with sudden rage and hatred for him. How could he?
“No, no, no, no, NO!” I screamed grabbing the thing nearest to me and chucking it at the wall. I tore the sheets, broke every valuable antique in sight, ripped apart books and finally shattered the mirror I adored with my tightly clenched fist. And then I stopped. I stared at my bleeding knuckles then at the pathetic mess of a person in the mirror.
I’ll be here when you need me. A voice cooed. I whipped around looking frantically for the source of that all too familiar voice.
I promise… I slowly turned to face the cracked mirror and my breath caught in my throat. “Matthew,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes bulging. He stood behind me leaning against the far wall casually, as if what was happening was completely normal. Like he hadn’t just killed himself.
A sad smile spread across his face and then he disappeared. I stood there staring at the reflection of the empty space in front of the wall, half expecting him to return.
~
Two months ago…
Every mirror in the house was now covered with old sheets as was glass furniture and doors that created even the slightest bit of reflection. I couldn’t bear to see him again. Not ever again. It was far too painful. I was too terrified to look into a mirror again. I had not seen myself in weeks, not even to groom. Certainly I was a mess, but I was beyond the point of caring. My every moment was spent inside my home, mourning over what I had lost, what could never be replaced. Most nights, I sat in different rooms, looking at photographs of him. But never in my room. I refused to go in there after his death. All the mirrors in there had been left as they were, uncovered, welcoming.