Fall From Grace

Slipping my hand to separate olive brown curtains but a fraction, enough only for a sliver of sunlight to penetrate a corner of my self imposed prison. My eyes rest upon needlepoint as a pang of loss stabs, as if I was plucked from my old life and discarded into my present life. My amber eyes trace my stitchwork, 'Amelia' stitched lovingly in calligraphy with gold embroidery thread. A pattern, once so proud of designing, now lay forgotten on my favorite sitting chair. My name floated above a beautifully shaped feminine hand done in a satin stitch, with viny morning glories wrapping around each digit. Vines transitioning nonchalantly into dangling gold chains dripping with small teardrop emeralds, as though the stem weeps through the Victorian French filigree, magically transforming into precious stones. Sighing, with a heavy heart, as my eyes sweep my beloved hand carved walnut Victorian antique chair, upholstered in gold and gingerly sprinkled with ivory flowers, yet awaiting my return as though shaming me for being away so long. Grandmother's Edwardian cut crystal lamp's beauty hides under a dusty layer, the lone survivor of a set, she purchased as a newlywed, rest upon a vintage walnut end table on top a champagne crocheted doily.

My longtime companion of sixteen years would lay at my feet, as I would embroider by the crystal lamp light, chewing on her favorite dog treat. A year ago, we sat enjoying the silence such as this several times week. Heartache intensifies as images of Willow; my soft butterscotch furry best friend would lay at my feet chewing her favorite dog treat. She loved to travel, she would pout if I did not take her out, she so loved to see the world. My pampered companion of sixteen years, we had never-ending adventures, until our lives were altered by my foolishness, a year ago, old age claims Willow. Our former lives crumbled away, ex-boyfriend left and ironically my wealth leaves at the same time. Who could blame Willow for seeking comfort in doggy heaven, since I could no longer provide the luxuries of our privilege? I too, would escape this life. Yet I know I am the cause of my own misfortune, therefore master of my own undoing. Unsure if I am punishing myself for being foolish or if I truly believe I will regain all that I lost. I shall reverse this, I vow to myself, yet another day passes and another, a week, a month with no real improvement. Forced to sell heirlooms to simply exist. Never earning any of the fortune, though now lost, disbelief in regaining my luxurious lifestyle haunts me, yet it isn't something I wish to admit.

Permeating squeals interrupt my thoughts, drawing my attention to the bustling sidewalk. A little girl with bouncing curls of four years perhaps, crying excitedly over a bird hopping a short distance from her. " Mommy, its a birdie." A young, blonde female smiled happily, saying something incoherently. A gentlemen and lady strolled by beaming at mother and toddler, as a preteen boy ran to catch up with his family.

Sidewalk facing my two-story home remained busy with active neighbors, I feel a longing for the courage to do just as they are doing, enjoying their life. So close yet I couldn't bring myself to simply open the door. I have never been in their company, how very odd for me to walk among them. I was snobby to them. Ah, the lack of money now, I am just as they are. Yet an outsider, trying to enter their world? I am unsure where I belong now.

Recoiling in fear and disgust, since my disheveled appearance was illuminated to any passers-by that ventured a glimpse. Releasing the heavy, coarse drapery to fall back into place, once again swallowed by darkness. Perturbed, I spin on my heel abhoring my lack of self-care. Hoping not one judgmental noticed my unkempt appearance. Longing for beauty again yet unable to undertake such an overwhelming task, immobilized by my insecurities.

Ensnared by loneliness, my mind gingerly massaged with covert, sentimental fingertips of manipulation, a subtle, unsought visitor reexplores. Yesteryear, prematurely deemed departed long ago, now dances bewitchingly with a come-hither gaze. Memories of my estranged lover whisper in a provocative, breathless melody "Amelia, come with me my darling and neither will be lonely again. You have missed me, as I have you." The winsome tune continued with magnetic fascination, though reminiscing could poisonously serve regression. Tottering, on the brink of desirable and loathsome recollections with the former passions overpowering the latter, causing me to topple with gaining potency. Rationality fleeing, endeavoring to hold, but like sand slipping through my fingers and mettlesome wind carrying all logic in favor of the forbidden.