by Lucretia Janice
I remember the antique shop window, as clearly as if it were yesterday. Bric-a-brac arranged in ordered chaos and in the centre, those iridescent lamps, sparkling like treasure in the early evening light. How I coveted and dreamt of owning them! Every afternoon, I would hold my breath, as I neared the shop, praying they were still there and over time, my desire to own them became an obsession.
That we both arrived simultaneously one blustery Saturday morning to purchase them, was a rare miracle - something we marveled over for months. It became our binding story, our myth, which cemented the fathomless mystery of fate and our part in it.
Afterwards those twins became apostrophes on either side of our bed, enclosing ‘us’ together, forever until death do us part, in an ethereal embrace, like moonlight beacons in a sea of endless love.
I can’t recall when you brought that oppressive painting into our house. It was purchased in a guilty moment and presented to me as compensation for all the lonely days and cold nights apart, the times away from me that you could never fully explain. I accepted it with uneasiness and a sense of foreboding but no matter how many peace offerings were given, the breaks and tears became gaping holes in the fabric of our life and eventually, they were moved to the table.
That you should choose to leave just these three possessions behind, is a twist more cruel than fate should ever allow.