My sight has left me, everything has withered to lightlessness. The world, once emblazoned with colors, from the shimmering shades of white and coral in the moonlight, to the spectacle of citrus and rouge that began each day, has burnt out.
But I remember, the contour of my loved one’s face, his eyes, his smile, his artful hands. And I remember blossoming violets, swaying white willows, and the ocean. I envision the cascading leaves of autumn, the glistening white snow, the fires crackling in the hearth, and the gleaming dew glosses over the grass. And I cherish these more now that I will never again see their beauty.
My taste is gone, everything and nothing tastes the same. The sweetness of chocolate, the bitterness of a lemon, are nothing but words to me now. The tear will never spill on my lips with the watery saltiness again. A kiss may never be tinted with the last morsel savored in his mouth. A toast will have no need to be swirling around, to savor the flavor of its richness.
But I remember, the elated smiles of campfires and marshmallows, of secluded picnics upon cliffs, and of lovely dinners with languid conversations. I can taste the saltiness of the sea air, the snow drifting onto the tip of my tongue, and the succulence of tender steak.
Your words tumble upon deaf ears now. The tenderly spoken “I love you’s” have ceased. The yelling and screaming do not exist. The sweet sensation of The Clarinet Sonata by Saint-Saens may play over and over in my mind, but never with my ears. The laughter, the tears, are nothing.
But I remember, falling asleep to the sound of his voice, to his “I love you’s, sweet dreams”, and comforting words drifting over me like a warm breeze. I remember the laughter bubbling out of me, the first time I ever told someone of my feelings, and the sound of the band playing. And I can hear the ocean’s waves tumbling, the ice cream trucks song, and the sound of the wind upon my window.
My sense of smell has left me, nothingness is overcoming me. The aroma of freshly baked cookies, wildflowers in the spring, fresh coffee at the dawn, they are nothing. The lush smell of the pine trees wafting with the breeze, newly mowed grass wandering through the house. I have no concept of these any longer.
But I remember, even now, the aroma of Thanksgiving dinner filling my nostrils and making my stomach rumble with delight. I remember the smell of a new book opened for the first time, the freshly laundered scent of newly washed clothes, and the smell of snow swathing me after a snowball fight.
And the final act of my human undoing, my sense of touch is gone. For I now I cannot experience the warmth of a hug, the kiss of a loved one, the safety of falling asleep in someone’s arms, or even the throbbing pain of a gash in my arm. I cannot tell if I am walking, if I am even breathing. I am ensnared within an insentient body. All that I was, and all that I could be, has vanished.
I am nothing.