I stared at the ivory stone, remembering what once was.
He had once come to me, as I sat silently in my seat, staring absently out the window. Trees flashed past, buildings tuned into their splashes of green. He had put himself beside me, flashing a grin as I turned to move my bag. “You have beautiful eyes.” It was sudden, unexpected. I had turned to look at his sea-green eyes, with the look I couldn’t quite place, his ivory hair, that threaded across his head. “I’d shot back a compliment, but I have none. I’m also sunburnt so you can’t see my blush.” I looked away, embarrassed by what I had said. “Then I’d better give you another one to make up for it.” He cleared his throat. “Your hair is like a shiny mahogany piano.” That had been the first time I’d meet him.
He invited me to dinner, showered me in corny compliments that passed as jokes. He made me laugh like no one ever did.
He took me to the beach once. We made the two hour drive to the crystal sea. The sun was shining to please our ambitions. We were like children. We made sand-castles, raced to see who could get in first. It was, perfect. And then we waited till the sun began to set, and shared our first kiss. It became a monthly trip. Sealed with a kiss.
We had known each other a year when his grand-father died. We sat on a park bench, him in my arms. And he cried. He let his façade disappear, and in that moment, I saw him how I would always see him from then. Real.
He went on a holiday with his family once. I missed him terribly. He called me every day. I thought about him all the time now. His, sea-green eyes, his ivory hair. Him.
Six years after he had sat next to me, I stood in an ivory dress, flowers braided in my hair. And I looked into his eyes, and saw the same look I had seen six years before. Absolute love. “I love.”
And the years had come, one after another. A little daughter, with hair like her Father’s was blessed upon us. He would sit with me as she grew inside me, pouring through books of names. “Anna? Jessica? Louise?” But when we first saw here, with thin wisps of hair coming from her delicate scalp. “Ivory.”
When my Father became sick we went to the hospital. I couldn’t bear to see my Father like that, so weak, hanging to life by threads. I couldn’t stay there, but to see my Mother in tears, and to know that she needed someone. He sat with her every second she was there. Just sitting next to her, holding her hand, talking occasionally. And it was wonderful, to know that he was there for her, like he was there for me.
The years came whiling, and our love seemed only to grow.
So now I stared at the ivory stone, remembering what once was. As tears came down my eyes, I looked to see the daughter which shared his colour. And I knew, that his love would never die, as long the colour Ivory existed.