Green Is for Remembrance

Rowan, if remembrance were painted in only one colour, it would always be green for me. Of course, that’s all because of you.

Yes, my love, every single seed of a moment with you, I’ve nurtured in the greenhouse of my memory. There, I watch it sprout, breaking so deftly out of the rich earth of everyday. Little by little, buds begin to form until it is ripe, ready for the rainbow of petals to open up and perfume every crevice in the heady scent of joy. Now, every time I step into my forest of recollection, a smile creeps onto my countenance like ivy on a brick wall. Even now that you left me.

It seems that even after five years from the day you flew away, your jade eyes are all that sparkles in the treasure trove of my imagination. I still remember when I first gazed at them, jewels that instantly encrusted themselves in the fabric of my existence. I had just moved to London then. Looking for a little slice of Lynmouth, where my life first took root, I decided to come to one of the capital’s pockets of lushness. Little did I know that in immersing myself in the urban canopy of trees, I would bump into you, drown myself in the verdant lakes of your regard. As you apologised, I watched as a glimmer emanated from them, enveloping me in an absinthe-like haze. Since then, all of my memory has been tinged in green.

Green was your shirt the night we went out for dinner for the first time. I recall sitting in front of my mirror, fragile and shaking like a minute shard from the bottle of champagne we’d eventually share. All fear dissipated when I opened the door to you, your mint top deliciously slightly rumpled and your grin delightfully bashful. Even as you led me to your car, conversation between us flowed, words zooming past bright go signals. By the time we reached The Basil Bistro, it’s as if it was just the two of us tucked away in a secret garden. When you pressed your soft lips on mine, all of my senses were flooded with your piney scent. Oh, how I adore reminiscing all that in green.

Green was the leather of the journal you gave me for Christmas our first year together. How can I erase from the slate of my mind the gleam in your stare as you handed me a package wrapped in paper with your watercolour wreaths? As the peridot cover peeked through your scrupulously-arranged parcel, I was already tearing up. When you beamed and walked behind me to carefully place a necklace embedded with a similarly coloured stone, though, I was a verdigris-coated fountain. Oh, how I adore reminiscing all that in green.

Green were the fields of Ireland where we took our first holiday as a couple. Images of that glint of mischief in your gem-like look as you gave me the airline tickets are forever projected on the green screen in my head. As soon as winding roads lined with meadows dotted by wildflowers whizzed past our taxi windows, a vine of a smile crept onto my visage. For a week, we took in the sights, wished on every four-leaf clover to be by each other’s side forever. Oh, how I adore reminiscing all that in green.

Green was the stone on the ring you tearfully slipped on my finger when you asked me to be your wife. Whenever I hear a little whisper of wind caressing my face, I still travel to that car ride a decade ago and the huffs of deep breaths you took on the way to Paignton. I should have known the picnic you prepared would make ecstasy spring forth in all of me when you covered my eyes with a juniper-hued silk blindfold as we reached the sands. When I finally noticed the seafoam banner with the words ‘Will you marry me, Chloé?’ on it, I leapt into your arms and planted a soft gossamer kiss. As the emerald shone in the Devon sun, I couldn’t help feeling as if I’d floated to Venus. Oh, how I adore reminiscing all that in green.

Green were the hydrangeas lining the aisle as we exchanged pledges of forever. You know every second of it is etched in every branch in the rainforest of my thoughts. The castle grounds we’d chosen for our vows were resplendent with every shade of rose displayed, and yet, all but the glacial jets dripping down your cheeks were swallowed into the shrubbery in my vision. When I finally reached you, your jade orbs glistened as you whispered ‘You look beautiful.’ Both of us promised to nurture each other’s hearts to lushness, to love in the verdure of spring and the bleak of winter. Oh, how I adore reminiscing all that in green.

My Rowan, to me, every vibrant, happy memory is bathed in viridity. How could I know that like slime-toned vipers slither on tall grass stalks to strike on their prey, life would creep up on us and pump the venom of heartbreak into my veins?

Green was the hospital’s letterhead in that report a quivering oncologist presented to us. Green was the bucket that caught your every chemotherapy-induced millilitre of vomit and many grips of excruciating pain. Green was the handkerchief that dried my sobs upon reading the bold, scarlet word ‘Terminal’ at the bottom of a document. Green was the early morning Atlantic you insisted to see before the obsidian sands of your time trickled down for a final time. Green was the sheet they draped over you as that lime line on a screen flattened. Green are the flashes of envy in my view whenever I observe bodies enlaced in another’s. 

Worry not, my love. I will be okay. Like a minuscule sprig pushes its way out of the soil, happiness shall blossom in me once more. For now, though, know this. For as long as the world is covered in green, even beyond, I shall always adore you.