A Love In Stages
An Experimental Piece

(Author's Notes: Inspired by the change of season here I decided to try a new type of story, in a new style. By using a more brisk style, I hoped to capture the passage of time more. Please leave a review with any comments you have on it or the content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Sally or King Acorn.)

I found him in the garden. Red flowers flourishing, I saw him walking along the pathway by himself. The spring sun glistened down; a pair of birds chirped in the distance. I offered to join him for company. He agreed. We walked in silence.

I caught him again today. Balancing a notebook, I tried to smile pleasantly, but I couldn't. I've tried for weeks now to be civil to him, but I can't. He proposed walking together. I said I had other plans.

We had an argument during breakfast today. I wish I could say it was political. He made his case. I tried my retort. The only cross-examination was from him. I excused myself and left the table early, leaving him, an unfinished debate, and a full plate of French toast.

I saw him pass the doors of my room on more than one occasion today. It was rainy and miserable outside on the balcony. Huddled over a stack of papers, I watched him wander the halls like a ghost. With an apologetic expression on his face, he passed by once more before I shut the door.

He wasn't here at dinner today. The table was quiet without him. We haven't talked much within the last week. I should be thankful. Every discussion we've had has turned into a bloody battle. There are some days I'm convinced I really hate him. Yet another day was one of them.

He knocked on my door while I was working. Papers in hand, I ignored it.

We've had silent breakfasts for a week. I refuse to make eye contact. He refuses to make a sound. I left early. I wasn't stopped. I didn't make an excuse.

I've been avoiding having dinner with him for the last week. I met my nephew at a restaurant today. We debated the impact a father has on a child's life. I assured him that a child could be successful without a guarding parental figure, he being the primary example.

He was wandering miserably in the garden today. I was writing. When he passed by, I kept my eyes on the paper, pretending to be indifferent. He assumed I didn't see him.

I found flowers on my desk today with a note. Handpicked from the garden, I put the flowers in a vase and tossed the note aside. I knew the handwriting.

He tried to apologize to me openly today, but his stubbornness got in the way. When accusing me that I had no right to give him the 'silence treatment', his anger caught up with him. We started fighting again. I told him I didn't need him. He said I could leave. I left him with the words it'd be my pleasure.

I've tried to stay away from him for the last week. I eat at different times. I leave the castle grounds as frequently as possible. I've talked to more than one person and they agree I should give him another chance. I've given him it.

We walked today but not by will. We wandered. I focused on our shadows. It's hard to believe I came from this man when we're walking two meters apart.

I tried writing him a note yesterday, plagued by guilt. I left it in his room on the night-table, standing it up to make it look presentable. It was still there this morning, untouched.

We don't stare at each other during breakfast. We don't acknowledge each other during dinner. I asked him how he was and he fought the conversation away. He left the table early, boasting the same excuse I have on more than one occasion. He had work.

I wrote him another letter today asking him to meet me in the garden. We took a walk.

I walked with him again today. We didn't say much. The flowers are still blooming and it's midsummer. It's beautiful.

We had a long conversation about my mother today. He smiled when he spoke of her. For once, I smiled back.

We try to keep a casual relationship now. We spend our time together talking about everything but politics and my life. He talked about his youth and the first time he saw her. I listened, enchanted.

We walked during the evening today. I reminisced on the summers before. We watched the sunset together, thinking more about astronomical concept of it than the beauty of the moment.

Today was her birthday. Neither of us spoke much. We didn't walk but I found him perched over pair of roses, eyes tearing. I walked over to him and put my arms around him. He returned the embrace.

We openly discuss policies now, but our chats usually fall back on his past. He enjoys reflecting on the memories. I admire his character in his youth. I don't usually say much to him. Caught in his words, all I need to do is smile.

I can see him in the garden, holding a flower. I like to imagine my mother there with him, smiling back. He has a heart; he has a mind; he has a soul. He's a person; he's a child; he's unsure; he's quizzical; he's alive; he'll be alright. He can make a mistake without having a kingdom lampoon him. He can be spontaneous without the consequence; can be daring without the fear. There's a future for him undoubtedly. He's an amiable lad. The walks he takes with her are still-frames in my mind, played in black and white. He proposes near the roses. She is taken by surprise. She takes his hand, finds her voice, and nods. She says yes.

It is the last day of summer. A chilling wind blows through, signaling the onset of fall. I walk holding his hand, admiring the last week of day lilies and plants of the sort. I discuss my thoughts, dreams, and fears with him, just as it should be. I always dreamed of having this relationship with him; dreamed of the intimacy. I feel childish gripping his hand the way I do, but somehow, I don't mind. The walk ends early; an urgent manner coming up. He nods at me, letting go of my hand. He says he loves me. I say it back.