Underneath The Lychgate

These steps feel uncertain as the Earth they cover. Attempting to remember everything I have heard about this tradition. A ritual. One that can only be activated should you trail your steps underneath the lychgate. Lifting my solemn head high, the ceiling of stone haunts me. Will this power be fulfilled with such hesitation? Trepidation and so much fear. Without breathing, I force my feet forward through the tunnel. Into the garden of re-birth and spirit.

Four years it has taken me to witness the summer solstice. Before, I had not a reason to. And, once I did, I could not bear to see them again. Not since I had lost them. Mere photographs sharpen the darkness deeper. The film had stopped rolling, leaving an empty screen for me to watch eternally. Commencing that moment I was told about this inexplicable phenomenon that occurs on the longest day of the year, where our lost loves arise from their unknown utopia and embrace the ones they left behind, I was sure I would have run underneath the lychgate, towards my eventual happiness.

Each year, I could have gone to see them. March without hesitation and activate my hope. They would ask me how I have been. How I have coped in their absence. And, I could never lie to them. Not in any form reality holds. Scars in my eyes would tell them everything my words would fail to. I have not coped. No matter how hard I tried and worked and wanted to be okay, I failed to function. My soul held on for dear life. As it held onto mine.

An air of acceptance encapsulates the environment. Beside the sunflowers that shine facing the ground, a woman lays beside her husband. A translucent glow engulfing his presence, infiltrating willingly into hers. Across the streaming river that forgets which way to follow, at times, sits two young adults. A man and a woman. Girl and boy. Youthful in their appearance, though, woefully wise in their vision. They sit cross-legged in front of their father, smiling.

The heels of my feet sink. I am stuck. How I wanted to be ready. To see them once more and beam a smile that does not hurt to pull. If I take another step towards past the kaffir lime trees that have sustained through the most treacherous weathers, I would attempt to say how I have sustained my soul and my growth has not been stented or terminated. All of these words would be lies. I am not okay. And, for once, I am okay with that. They know that I am trying. The effort I put into my heart to live one more moment. To see the beauty life has to offer, amongst the darkness that will not ever leave me, until I do. Before I trail my steps back underneath the lychgate, I turn towards the trees. They stand amongst a glow of pride, waving. Next summer, I will return with stories. And, a smile.