It’s been nearly fifty years, but I can still smell the apple blossom in the trees; I can still hear the birdsong, feel the warm waters of the creek running between our toes. My pained heart still races when I recall the moment she first took my trembling hand and placed it against her firm, warm breast. The softness of her skin, the tenderness in her eyes – she always made everything seem right.
Yet today she is gone, and I’m alone. Our memories though will stay with me until we’re together once more on that moonlit river bank.
The bedroom was a mess: gaping holes knocked through crumbling plaster, sun-faded carpets peeled right back. I knew what she was looking for, and she wasn’t going anywhere without him – the new owners would just need to wait.
As we searched together, a large, jagged knot in one of the recently exposed floorboards caught my eye. I kneeled down and peered into the gloom. Even after all these years, lost, presumed swallowed by a vacuum, the thin band of gold still shone brightly – to mum, as bright as the day she’d placed it nervously over her handsome groom’s finger.
‘We can leave now,’ she smiled, as her wrinkled, dust-covered hands cradled the ring.