David Brennon sat with his glass of whiskey in hand, as the memory of her rolled painfully through his head and heart. He remembered her last day of life, what she looked like, how she smiled at him that morning as she left, and her scent.
She was gone before his day had finished. An aneurysm had taken her, without warning or reason vibrant one moment and still the next. He took a long pull from the ice-laden glass and let it sear the pain from his heart.
He lost faith with so many things in his life after that, but worst of all he lost faith in himself. He remembered how she'd affected him the very first time he met her. He'd been swept away, thrilled with her smile and enchanted by her voice. But it was the eyes of soft green velvet that haunted him the most; there shimmering light put the lamps of heaven itself to shame.
With a single flip of their color she made his heart soar and his pulse quicken. She always made him feel like a better man than he really was ... he knew, one of the many things he loved about her. He had become hopelessly attached to her when they began dating. And one night out of each cycle of the full moon he took her a white rose and a bottle of wine.
They'd talk and laugh about their plans after college, people they each knew, and life in general. It was in these meetings that he really got to know Patricia for the wonderful, gentle person she really was. She was elegant and graceful in form, and exceedingly mild in spirit ... always ready to smile.
"Patricia, you must know how my feelings for you have deepened over the past few months, I think I've fallen in love with you Trish!" David had spoken the words of his heart at one of his "rendezvous of the rose" meetings. She had looked away for a moment, as he saw a rushing blush of crimson sweep up the side of her neck.
He watched her sitting there her features softly caressed by the flickering candlelight, thinking she must be the loveliest woman in the world. Like the siege of some vast army her silence increasingly diminished his hopes of a victorious outcome, as shame began to fill him.
His heart quaked in his chest as he awaited her reply, thinking he had made a terrible mistake by being so forthright with his feelings. Patricia then turned her head toward him, her eyes still not touching his and took his hand in hers.
"I have been waiting for this David, I fell in love with you the first time our eyes met and knew we belonged together, but I simply didn't know how to approach the subject with you!"
Their eyes met locking together as time and space disappeared for both, the energy that flowed between them was the essence of their own twin passions. Deep greeted deep, as it metered the depth of love and commitment each heart held for the other. As their two hearts embraced in the moment, their respective destinies fused in an inseparable union, that neither time nor life would ever alter.
Patricia looked up, and seeing the beauty of his feelings for her reflected there in his eyes was overwhelmed by her own intense surging passion for him. Her lips then rushed to meet his as silence surrounded them, cloaking the two lovers from all outside earthly concerns.
Her conscious awareness spun falling away from her, as her spirit touched something of beauty she'd never known before that night. While David's tongue passionately delivered the testimony of his love to her tender lips.
They married not long after David had initiated the ritual of the wine and rose, and she remained his most devoted ally and loyal wife for nearly twelve years. Until fate despised him, ripping her cherished love from his life, and turning his world to ash.
She was around five foot five inches tall with deep dark lustrous brown hair, and beautifully shaped breasts. Her waist narrowed from her upper back, and then flared again to form a pair of the sexist hips he'd ever seen. Her thighs were hard but still feminine, her legs being very well toned all the way down to her ankles, which were delicate.
The wine and rose was a romantic ritual of love between them, one that lasted until her death. It was at those times when the moon was full that David punished himself the most severely, drinking until his mind was a dull swirling mass of fog. It would kill him he knew, but didn't care anymore; at least it kept the pain and sadness in control.
He had always considered himself fortunate to be the one she'd loved, because to say his facial features were modest at best, was an outright kindness. And physically he was nothing that would recommend him to the loving heart of a seeking romantic.
Everywhere he looked now he was reminded of her absence from his life, and the pain would surround his heart like a large vise meanly twisted in place. So he spent most of his free time in a drunken haze, where the pain was much less acute and he could remember without tears.
But it was the dreams that were the worst of it; they came with every full lunar cycle. He would find himself in her arms again and the joy of his heart would be acutely intense, her kisses warm, her love still nurturing him. He would not recall her passing in them, and the room was always filled with the sweet scent of roses. It was not until he woke to the horror of the emptiness around him that he would realize; it had only been a dream.
She would come tonight he knew and take him back to better times, times of free laughter and warm love. The brush of her lips, and gentleness of her touch would quicken his heart once more and he would smile again.
He blew out the candle and staggered toward the bed, his eyes glazed, and his feet unsure of their destination. He sat the glass on the end table and all but collapsed in the bed, his mind and body numb from drink. His breathing slowed as his consciousness gratefully slipped away from the pain and into the darkness of sleep.
