Her beauty was ablaze within his memories; so prominent and beautiful in its complexity, and yet so dearly destructive.
Vincent eyed the cobblestone floor steadily, glossy eyes reflecting a spectrum of heavy chocolates, crimsons, and grays within the ancient library. Although his memory of her face now grew hazy, her essence remained. He could still remember the faint, sweet smell of her skin, dainty white hands sliding neatly in between his fingers like she always did. Her soft, delicate breathing; even and rich with life... But a crystal-clear statement echoed through his mind: she didn't exist.
A sharp pain rippled through his chest; gradual agony like venom, so inhumane and aggressive, making physical pain look so diminutive. He wanted to shake the pain away. But it took root, negating and incomprehensive, refusing to depart from his sweet memories. Grief's spindly hands took hold of his mind and hurdled him into an abyss of sadness every time her smile awoke him at night. You deserve this. His mind screamed. She's not here. His heart screeched. This makes no sense. His hands trembled lightly. Where are you?
She was haunting him. His mind tried to grasp her death; analyze it, decompose its structure, break it apart in small pieces and formulate a proper answer that would make sense as to why she was gone. But alas, he couldn't even explain the essential question: why.
Why did this happen? In a moment of rage, Vincent took a pile of books, scrawled on with miniature doodles of the city and chemical compounds. He heaved a profound growl, and flung the twenty-something books to the brick wall. They crashed against the wall brutally, the surrounding bookshelves quivering from the impact. They landed into a larger pile of books, pages billowing out of books that plainly split in half.
He crashed against a wall and cradled his head in his hands. He arched forward, crouching as his bangs spilled over his hands and shoulders. His sense of the present and the past collided, plummeting him into bizarre collages of an older Lucrecia cleaning the porch of a cozy-looking cottage, a myriad of flowers correlating her feet. Vincent took the broom from her hands and kissed her lightly on the lips, as two charcoal-haired twins pushed past them and scampered off into the woods. "There they go." Vincent gazed dotingly at his children and laughed, as Lucrecia embraced him into a long kiss. I love you, he could hear her whisper.
Suddenly, the room fell into a familiar darkness. The flowers evaporated, turning into gray dust. The warm, cozy home was dispelled and he no longer saw Lucrecia. All he could see were specks of dust that soon began to transform into dim sunlight, heavy books lying on bookshelves, cobblestone floors... Slender, dark eyebrows rose as he took in this familiar scenery, trying to make sense of what was reality and what was not. He was back in the library. He'd never really lived with Lucrecia. They'd never really had children.
It all seemed so odd and nonexistent. Her memory had felt so incredibly real, just beyond his reach. Maybe if he'd tried a little harder, imagined things better, maybe she would be alive again. In a world that was ultimately a fantasy. A fantasy that will remain in his head and torture him in a sweet catharsis everytime he saw a beautiful girl.
Vincent observed, through a small window, as a petite, black-haired girl scampered towards a tree erupting in laughter. She looked young, possibly in her twenties, and brimming with life. She reminded him briefly of Lucrecia. Maybe he could transform her into the love he could never quite attain. He could fool her, young and stupid, that he loved her, they would always be together, profess his eternal love... but behind every embrace, caress, sweet words... Lucrecia would loom behind his closed eyes and sting every time he'd kiss another woman. His gaze turned away from the woman, disappearing behind his mind as she pranced into the forest. But they could never be Lucrecia.
His arms crossed over his chest as his head shook furiously. What was he thinking? Did he really just try to replace her? What was going through his mind?
His light eyes scrunched, trying to withhold a tear. There was no real way to convey the pain. The loss. The more time passed, the more his delusions grew in power. He was slowly forgetting, his mind creating new realities. Lucrecia didn't exist in his mind anymore, either. His mind pleaded for an answer. Show me you're still here. I don't know what to do. What if things had been different? Would you still be here? Would you still love me, despite everything else? I want to know.
Just give me a sign, please.