Left and Leaving

I wake up with the sun, its light filtering in through the window above the bed. I reach over to stroke her mane, briefly forgetting the last week. Grasping only air, everything comes back in a rush. I sit up, and stare at the empty spot beside me, where she used to lie.

It hurts too much to look any longer, so I leave the bedroom and go to inspect the damage I’d done to my studio. Paint stains cover the floor in large splotches, torn canvas everywhere. I step inside and a paintbrush cracks beneath my hooves. There in a corner the unfinished piece leans, still waiting for its completion.

I pick it up and remove the cloth covering it, before placing it on the easel. I’ve been working on this same painting for three years. Every once in a while I’ll try to finish it, but nothing ever comes. It sits there, mocking me.

I never let her see this one. It was the only piece she wasn’t allowed to look at. “You’ll ruin the surprise” I’d say. She hated that. On more than one occasion I caught her trying to sneak a peek under the cloth, and when I’d ask her what she was doing, she always looked like a child who had been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar. After a while, she stopped trying to sneak in, but that didn’t stop her from asking to look. I could tell it was driving her crazy, but it was my own little revenge for all the things she’d made me eat while she laughed.

I’d intended to let her see once it was finished. I thought I had more time. The thought of her never getting to see it complete tears at me. I have all the time in the world to finish it now, but no one to show it to.

I don’t know what I thought this was going to be like. I suppose I thought we would last forever. It’s a ridiculous thought I know, but it really felt like we could make it. I sit down in front of the half-finished canvas, staring at it as it stares back at me. It seems like a mirror of our life together… Half-finished, stopped before we could paint our picture.

My stomach is complaining, but I don’t care anymore. I can’t tear my eyes away from this incomplete work. I have to finish it. I waited too long, I can’t wait any longer. It wouldn’t be right.

Again my stomach cries out, causing me to double over, and I realize I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. At this point I’d be happy to eat whatever disgusting thing Nimble would have put in front of me. I’d be glad to, just to make that face for her again. To see her sly little smile come out.

A flash of inspiration hits me. How could I have been so blind? I begin digging through the scattered remains of my supplies, looking for anything that had survived my rage. After a while, I came up with a handful of brushes, and various small cans of paint that had been in the closet, and therefore safe from my rampage.

I pulled my chair close to the easel and set to work. My stomach stopped complaining, realizing that something more important was happening. I wish she was here to watch, but if she had been here, I wouldn’t have let her. I wouldn’t want the surprise to be ruined. The sun had begun to set as I placed my brush down and stepped back to look at my work.

Nimble lay in our bed, the sheet half covering her. I was stroking her mane, lying next to her. Her eyes were half closed as if just awaking. The early morning sun shone gently through the thin white curtains, giving her a faint glow, a wry smile on her face.

Nobody told me it was going to be like this. If I had known, I would never have let myself open up to her. I’m grateful no one told me about this pain. If they had, I’d never have had this life. I’d never have met the woman I loved, that I still love even now. She may be gone, but I’ll never forget her. That smile will always be there, undying love shining through.