Here Goes Everything

Bright afternoon light trickles through the trees and speckles across the simply dressed garden table. I try not to meet your blue eyes but I can’t help but stare. The scent of spring is dancing on the wind; mowed grass, traces of lingering precipitation and sweet nectar laces the breeze. The garden is rimmed with rich brown trunks stretching into lush leafy branches, the ground littered with freshly opened flowers. The beautiful colours make a fitting back drop to a beautiful scene.

You look stunning in your open white shirt, sat across the teak table from me. Your body tensed, out of place with the general demeanour of the garden. You sit upright in the wooden garden chair, one elbow lent on the table. Your melon starter has been pushed around the plate, evident in the meticulously formed swirls of raspberry sauce now messily dragged across the plate. You’re hurt and unimpressed. You have no interest in the surroundings and continue to avert your eyes from mine.

My hands are shaking, clinking the fork against my plate. I put it down and taking a long draw on the water in my wine glass, try and string words together. Nothing.

You meet my eyes and I can see clearly that sorry will not be enough. Not that it ever is, nor should it be. But this is not as simple. I can’t keep apologising and not changing. You deserve better. I have it but somehow the words to explain don’t come. Apparently neither does the change. I want it. I want you. But this, as it is, is not enough for us. You deserve more and better.

I snap back into the reality of our awkward luncheon as the waitress reaches for my starter plate, replacing it with my main. A leafy green chicken salad drizzled in creamy caesar dressing, appetising on any other occasion but this one, it simply adds to the churning sick feeling in my stomach. I look up to see the other waiter change your courses. Your eyes meet mine and I try a small smile but your face remains unchanged. You bow your head and focus on your food.

I’m convinced that if you could read the script of my thoughts and the print on my heart your doubt would dissipate. Until such a helpful device allowing this is invented I am left here with a mammoth task of repairing something which I am sick of breaking. Trust. Confidence. Closeness.

My words will not be eloquent. My voice will shake. My eyes will well with tears. I may not say this right. It may not be enough. But this is my shot. I need to fix this. No matter the outcome I will give it my best. I’m hoping that you will accept me, forgive me and keep loving me.

I catch your eye, hold your gaze, pluck up my courage and think…

Well, here goes everything…