Blue in Green.

Pride and Prejudice is playing on repeat in my DVD player and Elizabeth Bennett is offering me her constant companionship with the wit of her word. A hard cover copy of Sense and Sensibility is sitting on the bed next to me, begging me to open it and get lost in the beautiful complexity of Jane Austen's words. I close my eyes and go back in time, to the world of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. A beautiful one. An innocent one. I was not made to live in this day and age. Balls, Piano Fortes, large estates passed on through so many generations, traveling around England in a carriage to admire these beautiful homes, and all the time in the world to take in the world around you; that is truly enjoying life.

What has happened to love today? There are no such love stories as Darcy and Bennet. A painful aching love. The wonderful thing about Bennett and Darcy is it was not a perfect, mushy love. Their hate and angst with each other was simply due to the fact that they were so similar. Stubborn, proud, mild tempered, spoke their minds but (and here is the important part) not their feelings. This is where I have to ask, can two people so similar make it together?

Here I am, the spitting image of Elizabeth Bennett; stubborn, unwilling to accept help, closed off about my feelings but not my opinions. That is just simply who I am, but I know it and I am OK with all of those things, faults they may be. Yet those very things I despise about myself at times are in fact the common denominator in the men I become interested in. (which are few and far between) I will never understand why the selfishness, arrogance, and stubbornness will continue to be my weakness of the opposite sex. Masochism? Perhaps. "I could more easily forgive his vanity had he not wounded mine." - Elizabeth Bennet 'Pride and Prejudice'

I digress...

As I sit here listening to the song I had planned for us to dance to at our wedding, I realize that the world around me is moving at full speed while I, I am trapped in a stalemate. A world that no longer exists is my only existence.

The sounds of the cars passing and the people talking about their current lives are drowned out by the memories of us infiltrating my every sense. I stare into a flickering candle flame and am taken back.

The smell of you can still sweep over me at an unannounced moment and will steal me away from reality. I stifle a giggle as I remember your collection of colognes for every season. I struggle to push the sound of your voice from my unwitting conscious. The voice that told me “I love you” and the voice that took it back. In a half sleep I will feel your warmth pouring through me only to turn over to an empty pillow next to me, and a tear laden pillow under me. I envision your perfect hands, the hands that held me when I cried, the hands that picked me up when I was down, and that hands that let me go. But I have lost your taste. The taste of what it feels like to love you, kiss you, have you. I've lost it. I want it back; you were all that I had.

I look in the mirror these days and I do not recognize who I am. It's as if I only knew who I was when I had you next to me. Yet, I only realized who I was when I was without you. When I was with you I was so lost within you that I once again lost myself. I drove you away and I know that; so I drove away. I look in the mirror and all I see is a tragic girl...