Our Garden of Eden

We used to go there every single day of the summertime, you and me.
We would take the route marked by the warped bits of driftwood, over the golden, rolling sand dunes and into the woods. I remember how frightened we were of those woods to begin with, because of the brutal legends the villagers told. They said that, long ago, battles were fought in the woods, battles for land. Legend had it that the soldiers of the west slaughtered every soul that was sent on the battlefield. Those souls, they said, lived on, possessing every single part of the woods. They were the mighty trees, the gothic crows, the watchful owls; they hungered for the flesh and blood of the victors from the West.
We continued despite the legends, though- we were brave, young, unscathed souls back then… we came from a small town with an even smaller mind, and we had grown too big for our boots.
From the entrance to the woods we would continue to walk diagonally until we got to the waterfall, where we would cross the fallen tree. We had no idea how long that tree had lied there, across the river rapids, but it felt solid and held our weight, so we never questioned its reliability.
From there we would continue strait, until the foliage gradually thinned, and we found ourselves at heaven on earth, our own personal Garden of Eden, our meadow.
Tall grasses swallowed our entire bodies whilst we lay there, along with wild daisies, dandelions, crimson red poppies, and, in the early months, daffodils. The sky that we gazed up at was always a bright azure, the sun a golden orb that was a bittersweet broadcaster, telling us both when we could come to our paradise, and when it was time to leave. Our meadow was a place of peaceful vibes, romantic memories, and happiness. There we shared our sorrows, our secrets, our first kiss- there we were truly at peace with our lives.
One day, I left town for a few days- a camping expedition, with a few of my fellow boys. It was the first time that I hadn’t been in town during summer. I had expected you to be irritated, but you look it in your humble stride- ‘Bring me back something beautiful from the city’ you said. I remember the way your eyes shined mischievously, your laughter. I remember every detail of that moment, for it was the last time I saw you alive.
While I was gone, you went across to the meadow, like every other day. But as you crossed the fallen tree, it began to give way. No one really knows what happened next…perhaps you panicked, and ran to try and cross, but lost your balance. Perhaps the movement was enough to throw you off, into the white water. Whatever happened, you ended up going over the waterfall. Your body was found washed up against a bank, just out of the woods. Your body was drained of all blood, due to the sharp rocks of the stream severing you. The villages had a ball, telling ludicrous tales of the soul’s vengeance. I’ve been to our meadow since your death, cutting down a tree further upstream than the one we used to cross, But it feels strange without you lying beside me, darling. I miss you ever so much, my sweetheart. I just wish I could go back in time, hug you for longer, and love you more. I just never thought that our time would be so limited, I though we would have forever.
I thought that you and I would always go to the meadow together,
I was wrong.