Darling Delilah

Today is April 31. But not the same April 31 I left on.

Ten years ago, I embarked on what I thought would be an epic journey of love and betrayal—just like in those novels I grew up reading.

Instead, I discovered that life is cruel, and the woman I had gone after, gone to rescue from the clutches of that evil, evil man, was the one to betray me.

I suppose I got the story I wanted, though in my mind, I always imagined the betrayal would come from one of those I met along the way, not in the form of her uncaring eyes as she shut the door in my face, his hands around her waist.

Embarrassed and heartbroken, I vowed to never return to the home we once shared, for the memories tore me up like shrapnel on skin.

As such, I have spent the past ten years wandering the world, in search of any woman who lived up to her, who could fill the hole left in my heart by that vixen.

In the end, I found none. While many a woman took an interest in me, my heart ached only for her.

Today is April 31. I said that already, but I must laugh at the cruel irony that is my returning on the same day I left, a decade separating them yet no time passing at all.

I sit in my living room, signs of her everywhere. These bright walls blind my eyes, I shall paint the white over with black once I regain the motivation to move.

Now, dear reader, you may be wondering why I returned home after I swore to never set foot in this town ever again.

And as much I dread writing the words—for writing them means thinking them, and thinking them means they are real—I shall answer your query.

My Delilah—my gorgeous, darling Delilah—has finally left the cage that man had entrapped her in.

I should be leaping for joy, for my dear, dear Delilah is free, and she may regain her senses once more and return to my arms.

Alas, she has left him for another man, a man who I bear no grudge against, a man who, in all honesty, is worthy of the title.

He is a fine gentleman, and perhaps that is why I agreed to return home for the celebration.

You see, this man—this sweet man who I can no more hate than a mother her own child—is set to wed my Delilah.

I was but a young lad when I set off in chase of my woman, and while time has been kind to me, I am no longer the boy I once was.

Alas, while I near my thirties, Delilah—my perfect, beautiful angel Delilah—has fallen for a man three years less than I.

I long for her embrace, though I have long since reconciled the fact she loves me no more with the fact I must move on.

Cruel world, you mock me! Oh, cruel fate, I am in my old home which I shared with my Delilah while she is across town, making dinner for a man who is not me.

A mere mile separates us for the first time in years, but the emotional rift is too large to swim, too swift to sail.

Many a woman have told me “Dear Henry, you must move on! It has been years, you must find a new!”

But none have met my Delilah, seen the way her smile lit up the room, wanted to sink into the depths of her eyes.

I may have been a foolish boy, but falling for Delilah remains the cleverest thing I ever did, and I shall not move on from her until the day I perish.

Tomorrow is May 1.

Ten years ago, I spent May 1 on the road, determination my fuel, the burn her abrupt departure left soothed by fantasies of sweeping her off her feet.

Had she merely stayed with that man—the man whose name I cannot bring myself to even write—perhaps I could still convince myself she is under his spell, his poisonous intentions masked with the sweet scent of his fame and fortune.

Yet she is with Jeremy instead—lo! My beloved Delilah has left the grasp of him for sweet, young Jeremy instead.

Who could ever be angry with her when she has chosen to settle with the only man beside myself who could treat her half as well as she deserves?

Oh, Delilah, for your love I will forever wait, your touch I forever crave.

The invitation to the wedding arrived in the mail, and even as the sadness replaced the blood in my veins, flowing through me steadily to keep my shattered heart beating, I wrote back that my attendance shall be counted on.

So here I am, in the home we once loved in, writing in a diary long since abandoned, her laughter a ghost in the walls I cannot escape.

Darling Delilah, your love was too much, and I shall never find another who loved me as you did.

Dearest Delilah, your beauty transcended words, and no woman shall ever compare to your visage.

Beloved Delilah, your laugh was wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze, promising relief on a hot day and music to an otherwise silent porch.

Angelic Delilah, your smile was brighter than the sun that lights our days, and warmer than the fire we made on a cold winter’s eve.

Perfect Delilah, your touch was smoother than the silk sheets we slept upon, softer than the blankets we wrapped ourselves in, and lighter than the feathers of doves.

Today is April 31, and in forty-eight hours exactly, I shall be standing at Jeremy’s side while he weds the woman who fills my mind as I dream, for I am the best man.

Today is April 31, and on May 2, Delilah will have my last name, but it will not be me who gave it to her.

Today is April 31, and my magnificent Delilah will be no longer a fair maiden of whom I dream of rescuing.

For in two days, Delilah will marry Jeremy, and my brother will whisk her out of my life for good.

Today is April 31, and ten years ago, I chased a love I will never know again.

It is time for me to retire to bed.

When I awaken once more, it will no longer be April 31.

And you, Delilah, will still not be mine.