Earl Grey

When I was a young girl, winter was my absolute favorite. I would look out the window and watch the little flakes of snow falling gently and gracefully from the cloudy gray sky. As soon as I’d walk outside, the crisp air would hit my skin and fill my lungs with a sharpness that is distinct to winter. White, fluffy, and cold, my mittened hands would pick the snow up and mold it into many different shapes and creatures. I would make snowballs to throw at my neighbors as they passed by and my parents when they would come out to check on me. I’d sculpt a throne and pretend like I was the princess of the universe. I’d make snowmen and horses and build a whole world where I was the ruler and everything was as I wanted it to be.

But now, winter is a cold and bitter season. Where I once found joy and solace within the rolling hills of glistening, white snow and sharp, frosty icicles, I only find bland, boring landscapes of nothing. The colorful, glittering Christmas lights displayed outside of various stores and people’s homes would normally be a source of festive cheer, but it only leaves an ache in my heart. I look out the window of the quaint cafe I found myself in, just watching the people stroll along the street. They all looked so happy and I wondered what they were thinking about and if they’d ever experienced a loss like I have. I glanced around the shop, the light from the fireplace giving the room an orange glow. We used to sit in this same cafe, sipping warm earl grey tea and laughing quietly to ourselves. The heat from the fireplace would fend off the cold while we’d talk about our day and good movies we’ve seen recently.

Sometimes I’d just watch him while he talked, admiring the handsomeness of his expression. He had soft features; subtle and unassuming. Freckles were scattered across his cheeks, almost like the stars are scattered around the sky at night. His soft hair was ruffled, in a purposeful disarray. The red strands looked almost copper in the dancing glow of the fire. He had always been insecure about his hair, thinking it drew too much attention to him. But I loved it, and never passed up an opportunity to tell him that. There was always a tenderness in his golden green eyes, easily seen behind his large glasses. When he’d stop talking and look up at me, I’d see nothing but unwavering love in his eyes and all of my problems would disappear.

“What?” He’d say when he noticed me staring.

“Nothing,” I’d say, “I just love you.”

“And I love you, my dear.” He’d grab my hand and kiss my knuckles softly.

But that was last year, and now I’m sitting in the cafe all alone. Just like how winter used to be a time of peace and happiness, the familiar smell of coffee and donuts no longer gave me the same comfort it once did. The coffee shop I came to once a week for over two years was no longer charming and inviting; it lacked all the appeal it had when I first began spending my days here. The fire was softly crackling in the corner, but I still felt a dull cold deep in my bones. There’s been a perpetual chill within my body ever since he left me.

When the doctor told us that there was nothing we could do, that his illness had progressed too far to be reversed, it felt like the entire world had stopped. I never fully felt the weight of the doctor’s words until he was gone only three short weeks later. Being told that the person you love the most has such a limited time left to live is one of the most soul crushing experiences someone could go through. I didn’t know whether I should spend my time pretending like everything was normal and alright, or mourn and cry and tell him how much I was going to miss him.

It’s only been a week since I woke up and found him unconscious next to me. I put my hand on his bare chest and couldn’t feel the rising and falling of his ribs. His soft pale skin was as white as the snow I would play in as a little girl, and he felt nearly as cold. I couldn’t bring myself to move- I was only able to look at him as the reality set in. There wasn’t anything I could do to bring him back, and slowly the tears started to fall. You never truly realize how much a person changes your life until they’re gone and you’re not able to talk to them, feel them, or even argue with them anymore. There’s so much I would do to have him back and to be with him again.

Waiting has been the hardest part. I have been waiting to feel better, to rid myself of the constant, nagging emptiness inside of me. It felt as though I no longer had anything in my body- no heart, no lungs, nothing at all. I wanted to come back to our favorite cafe one last time before I ran away from this place to never return. Everything about this town reminded me of him; everywhere I go, there is a ghost of a memory of the love of my life. I can’t keep living in a place so embedded with the one I love- the pain never ends nor subsides, and no matter what I do, I can’t escape the longing and heartbrokenness I feel every minute of every day. I see him in every crack of the sidewalks, every leaf of a tree we walked by every evening, and even in every one of his favorite things in the supermarket.

I wipe my eyes and begin to collect myself. I am about to get up and leave this cafe and this town to restart my life somewhere that doesn’t have any memories, in hopes that I will finally heal and not feel like I am being ripped apart constantly.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a soft voice says from beside me, pulling me out of my spiral of sadness. I open my eyes and see a young girl with an apron on. She looked anxious, almost as if she was nervous to be standing next to me.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but someone asked me to bring you this.” She set the cup down on the table in front of me. “They said you looked upset and that this makes them feel better when something’s bothering them.”

“Who was it?” I ask as I look around hoping to see someone watching.

“They asked me not to say anything, and besides, they’ve already left.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” I tell her before she walks away. I pick up the cup and the smell of what’s inside wafts up to my nose. I breathe in deeply and can’t help but notice the distinct scent of bergamot and citrus, and I can’t hold back the tears anymore. Earl grey tea was his favorite; I remember smelling remnants of the tea on his breath in the mornings, when he’d kiss me after I finally made it to the kitchen after waking up late. Whoever wanted me to have this tea knew what they were doing. I don’t think it was a coincidence that this cup ended up with me, as I was about to go to my car and leave this place forever. He wouldn’t want me to run away, to leave the place where we started our lives together. The hurt would probably never truly go away, and I won’t ever forget the memories we made, no matter where I live. I take a sip while smiling to myself, knowing that eventually, everything will be alright and that I’ll somehow be okay.