Falling

            I am walking down a deserted path. I am alone, with only my wandering thoughts to keep me company along this isolated journey. The crisp autumn breeze flows effortlessly, enveloping my skin like a chilled windbreaker. There is nothing between me and my commune with Mother Nature. Nothing, except for one thing: the recurring thought that something is plaguing my conscience.

            My sneakered feet snap the exoskeletons of leaves that just a short month ago were the color of money and filled with breath beneath me. With each passing step, I try to uncover the mysterious nagging feeling that keeps nipping at my psyche like a voracious Yorkshire Terrier. What was it he said to me to cause such a contemplative mindset? Why is it continuing to bother me so? And how am I to solve this quandary, anyhow?

            A crimson leaf falls to its suicidal death upon my chocolate leather jacket. I brush it off with a once-manicured hand so it can be at a final rest amongst its comrades. I keep walking, trying to uncover the exact moment this all started in the first place. Confusion fills in all the cracks in my memory like caulk, disallowing for a breaking light of clarity. I want to take out a sharpened chisel to chip away in hopes I may see some semblance of what I'm looking for. I still have yet to figure out what that may be, however.

            The sun briefly breaks away from the ashen clouds' grasp. The wind picks up some speed for a moment and the leaves perform a whirling dervish around me. Has he forgotten how I told him about that night in late August where…no, that can't be it. He had to have remembered our discussion…or did he?

            I do, however, recall that conversation vividly. I remember that evening was filled with musk in place of dew and the sun was going down in a blaze of glory behind us, and as we sipped Arnold Palmers on the veranda, I was pressed beside him. He smelled of citrus and bergamot. I desperately wanted approval from this fine specimen of a man. He was so strong, with piercing cerulean eyes and hands that were calloused from years of carpentry work. I wanted his sculpted arms around me, shielding me from the potential creatures of the night that would come out to play at any moment. But I knew that it would never occur, for it seemed nothing would spear his pride. This was one lion I would never hunt. He spoke to me with such a swaggering demeanor, as if he really needed to prove his point any further that he was on a brighter path than I. I remember that the words flowed effortlessly off his tongue, while I wanted nothing more than to reply with brilliant eloquence. But I could only muster a half-silent scream. As ineffective as it was, it served its purpose. He laid down the false shield of arrogance long enough to gaze into my eyes and begin to realize that I was serious. He took a prolonged breath and apologized. More words were exchanged, then another sip, and he was gone.

            I remembered what he said while stopping under the shade of a brawny maple tree. That August night, I had whispered that I loved him, and then waited with baited breath for his response. At first in denial I said such a thing, he laughed jovially. But the look of vulnerability on my face spoke volumes, and that was when he stopped to inform me that he was leaving for London in a fortnight, and that unfortunately, my confession of love could not keep him here. I asked if he loved me back…but it was then I realized, to my dismay, that he'd already left the veranda. As I watched him walk down this same path I'm treading, a silent tear slid down my face. Now I know what was plaguing my mind: it was the unidentified answer to my question of unrequited love. And now, as I continue to walk, I walk in anguish for what could have been, what I'd hoped for, what I still long for above all else. I love him insatiably…but the reply lies across the vast Atlantic.

            I stop long enough to tie my left shoe, take a deep breath, and continue towards the half-hearted promise of a new day amongst the Technicolor trees.