February- A love story for St. Valentine’s Day   Leave a comment

Twilight Rose
She lay pale now; her usual rosy glow had left her cheeks and lips. The veil of night had descended, and the light of dawn would not stir her anew to meet a fresh day. Charlie held her cold white hand in his, and stroked the snow white hair back from her forehead with his other hand. He turned and nodded to those who were waiting to take her stilled frame, and then left the room. Charlie went down the wooden staircase and into the large sitting room. He poured himself a whiskey as he heard the thuds and knocks of Rose being carried out of the house, never to return.
He felt eerily empty as he dropped exhausted onto the faded leather sofa. His gnarled weather-beaten hands nursed the whiskey glass, as he stared at a photograph on the wall. It was a picture of his beloved Rose in the full bloom of youth. She had her coal black hair rolled up in a bun, and sported a wide-brimmed hat overflowing with fruit and flowers. She wore a long, white, ruffled dress with a lacy high-necked collar, pulled in waist, and billowing sleeves tapering into long lacy cuffs. In front of her she neatly held a furled up parasol with dainty white kid gloves. Rose’s sparkling blue eyes twinkled in the black and white photograph and her radiant smile seemed to warm the room.
Charlie recalled the first time he had met her. He had gone to the Jubilee Music Hall with his friend Edward and had been enchanted by the delightful Rose singing ‘Loves Old Sweet Song’. Charlie started singing the words to himself as he reminisced….Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low…..He chuckled out loud as he fondly remembered how he always called her his ‘Twilight Rose’ after that, and how she had in return called him ‘Champagne Charlie’. His eyes started to brim with tears now and then began to overflow. They began as a rivulet, and then began to stream into a full cascade down his crinkled worn face. Charlie’s shoulders started to shake as the raw emotion plunged through his bony structure, and spasms of despair made him shudder from head to toe. He lay down on the sofa and sobbed for hours; at first the sobs came in loud gasping waves, but eventually subsided into slight discernible murmurs as he fell asleep.
Charlie awoke, stiff, dishevelled and disorientated. He stretched his rigid limbs and pulled himself up. He hadn’t bothered drawing the floor-length curtains across the French windows that looked out over the back lawn and farmland beyond, and now the blue-pink ambient light before sunrise was starting to illuminate the room. Charlie had read somewhere that twilight is the time before sunrise or after sunset, when the surface of the Earth is between light and dark.
“So this is the twilight of morning Rose!” Charlie proclaimed as he stood in front of the square-paned windows that reflected the growing light spreading across the peaceful countryside. He was gradually bathed in the gentle, thawing light of dawn. It caressed his body and eased his aching heart, and he knew then that Rose was still with him but in a different way. “I love you my Twilight Rose,” he whispered and blew a kiss to the coming day.

Posted February 16, 2012 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

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