Creatively Writing

Almost Perfect

“It wasn’t his time…”
You know, they say never regret what happens in life, this would be the only exception. Regret? That word can’t even describe how I feel. It was two days ago; we were sitting underneath the cherry blossom tree in our favorite field- the one by the old church. Green grass that stretches miles long, never-ending, a sea of dandelions brushed by the breeze. It was a dream in reality.
“Would you miss me?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It can happen at any moment.”
Nothing out of the ordinary as I watched his eyes soften and his lips open slightly muttering the words under his breath, avoiding my gaze, knowing very well this could escalade at any moment. It was anger, I swear it was only out of anger, demanding him to leave, to go away, far away. Death wasn’t suppose to happen to anyone I knew. Death wasn’t suppose to occur near me, why talk about it?
“Just leave…”
“Don’t do this Michelle.”
“Go.”
One word. I regret it from the moment it left my mouth. Watching him leave, walk away from the tree and leaving me behind. It took what seemed like a lifetime for him to reach the end of the field to his parked dark blue pickup truck, he opened his door, looked at me with his light green eyes, with the tint of blue in the left one, mouthing something, something I could make out clearly.
I love you.
I took a picture, with my eyes, of that exact moment- white crinkled shirt, navy blue jeans, scuffed up running shoes, his dark brown messy hair, and his lips, mouthing those three words. Sunday evening, the sky was clear blue with enough clouds that I could count, the sun shining above me, hitting my arm and warming me up just enough, birds flying around with nowhere to go, kids running around the field escaping their parents, and Christians leaving church, talking among themselves. In all of this commotion, I focus on him getting into his car. I hear the engine roar from a distance, he pulls out of the parking lot and making a sharp left, a car runs a stop sign.
Breathless. Shocked. It was all my fault.