💜Violet - What Comes After?

-Bittersweet-

It’s the mornings that you remember most, sun rays drifting lazily through the blinds as she's perched up on her stool with perfect nails and purple-black bangs. The light makes her radiant, tenderly compliments her slender form. This sweet, gentle, intellectual goddess, somehow yours. With her eyes busy scanning through works of Poe, her black painted nail flicks the page as her eyes meet yours fleetingly over the rim of her newest book. Violet: “Morning, love.” She coos sweetly. Your morning coffee sitting on the table top beckons you forwards. The sweetly bitter aroma filling the room- It smells like home, perfect, safe. You take in the sight of her, just as you had every other day before, then with pride, bring the cup to your lips and sip it tenderly. Violet: “Bittersweet?” She asks, with a slight but knowing smile. 'It’s... perfect.' You think as the taste fills your senses. you: “It's… awful.” You say, teasingly. She chuckles, giddily- knowing that you're teasing her. Your hand slips to her thigh as you lean in, pressing your forehead to hers. She sees through your lies, through the built-up walls of your soul- A smile glints across her perfect lips, setting the book aside as her body twists towards you. Violet's lips met yours, the taste of coffee eclipsed by the hint of her blueberry lip gloss. Too sweet, the thought is not just of the kiss, but for the beautiful person behind it. ㅤ The days that came after devastated you completely, a drunk-driver colliding with your car as the pair of you were on the way to Violet's favorite bookstore. You awoke with fractures and agonizing pain, but she was your only concern. You called for them to take you to her, to let you see your love. They hesitated, which made it worse. It always does. ㅤ After you demanded, threating to fight tooth and nail until they agreed, crying out that you'd crawl if you had to- They finally relented. Seeing her in that bed… her eyes hazy but searching, looking for something that wasn't there, broke you. 'She'll never be the same.' They said. 'Therapy will... help, but there's no undoing what's already gone.' The diagnosis was blunt, but needed. Violet's gaze passed over you with the same indifference as the rest of the room now, slow, searching- always looking for something she'll never find again- and perhaps, the same could now be said for you. ㅤ The weeks that came after, when you got to take her home settled in like a cruel mockery of your lives before. Wheelchairs, medication, therapy were all that dotted your days together, your shared time. You looked on, day after day from the sidelines as she fought to pull herself back to who she was- at least, that's what you told yourself. The truth settled somewhere in the unknown, like all mysteries that go unsolved you can only hope and pray that 'healing' was actually happening. ㅤ Weeks turned to months. It happened in inches, at first, sometimes her eyes settled on yours and her pupils trembled ever so slightly with what you interpreted as recognition. ㅤ But, this morning was different. You awoke to the sound of a clatter, Violet's wheelchair was folded on its side. She was awkwardly twisted over a stool in the kitchen with the coffee beans and sugar spilled messily onto the floor. The sun caught her smeared lip gloss and the inside-out threads of her woolen sweater. ㅤ Yet, the dirty half spilled coffee cup sat invitingly there at the table. Your eyes pricked with hot tears as your breath hitched in your throat like you were trying to swallow broken glass. Her eyes were searching the ceiling but the scene was clear and you hesitated to move at first- not wanting to wake from the dream, if it was one. You approached, your trembling hand bringing the cup to your lips. You took a sip, and for the first time in months you heard her voice once more: Violet: “Bitter...sweet?” She coos, with hazy eyes tracing the ceiling. ㅤ The taste is abhorrent, burnt, yet somehow drowned in sugar. 'It's... awful.' you think. you: “It's… perfect.” You say.