OBLIVION came rushing to this bedroom

With his frayed flowing robes barely touching the damp floor

Turning everything to ashes as he passed, and finally cloaking himself to her.

The lawn is green, every blade of grass decked with liquid pearls from last night’s downpour. There grow four old and sturdy oaks, the wide front porch of the country house stretched as their backdrop. The oaks have always been there since we were still children, serving as shades for us whenever we want to spend the entire day playing outside. But today is special. They are now adorned with a plethora of powdery blue ribbons tied upon their branches.

Tables and chairs stand grouped across the lawn, and clutched on them are white balloons, motionless and waiting to be popped. Along the perimeter of the place is a white picket fence, about 3 feet high, which touches a row of sweetbriar bushes boastful of their bloom.

With the air quiet and still, it was actually a sight to behold, as if Persephone had again escaped the underworld. Yet its splendour was of no use now as I scurried myself through the flagstone walk leading up to the slightly open white door, clasping the sides of my chiffon dress as I fought for balance.

I spotted her off to one side, slumped on the floor, her white wedding gown splaying on the white Grecian tiles, leaving a turmoil of creases on its train, her father helding her. He was stroking her hair which was sleekly tied in a bun —- long slow strokes, careful not to shove the lone white oleander pinned on its place along the back of her head, and whispering “My Angel” to her. He had tears welling up his eyes, fighting them like how soldiers would when seeing a picture of their loved ones a minute before going to battle.  

The moment went on seeping like poison to my consciousness. I saw her shoulders trembling, her face covered with her hand, while i am standing there beside that white door — worthless, choking up as i saw a crumpled letter on her other hand.