Love did exist. It took me years, but I had found it. I thought I had found love before, but it was nothing in comparison to what I felt now. This raw emotion that left my limbs weak and my tongue heavy was nothing that I had imagine it would be. Whatever it was left my heart pounding angrily against my chest as if trying to burst from my ribcage and land beating at the feet of her. She was love, love had a name, and it was Sally.
The shallow, bitter world would not have labeled her as beautiful, but I did. The basis of her beauty was in her heart-shaped face on which rested a button nose that wrinkled whenever she smiled in the most adorable manner. And she smiled very often. Her cheeks were round, perfectly kissable, the kind you couldn’t help but pinch on the occasion. Short brown hair, forever changing its shape, one day tumbling down to her shoulders and the next cropped up to her ears and spiked with gel. A personality as versatile as her hair, and brown eyes that were large and liquid brown like a doe’s. Many nights were spent just sitting on the couch, watching movies and talking the night away. I kissed her once, or twice, when I felt daring. She would kiss back, on the occasion. I would have given it all away. I was young and impetuous at the time; I would have given it all up. Family, home, friends, God… all of it I would have burned at an altar and smoldered the embers between my fingers if I knew it would keep her with me. I knew she would always be there with me, for me. My sister, my love, my beautiful darling girl.
Then it changed, the bottom dropped out of my blissful existence. Suddenly, I was no longer first place in her heart. Cigarettes and liquor took my place, they were what made her happy, not I. I couldn’t give her the company she desired, and they could. Numb, dark existence to take away the pain of life. Many nights were spent, not in front of the TV, curled up on the couch and simply basking in each other’s presence – but in tears. I tried to comfort, and for a while, it worked. But then it grew worse. Cigarettes were replaced by drugs, liquor became stronger, and more frequent. She apologized, she cried, she said it wasn’t her, she was going to do something about it, she promised. Don’t give up on her. Don’t leave her. Just be a friend, that was all she needed. I stayed, I loved her, I would never leave her. How could she think such a thing? Yes, of course, I would stay…
Years later, three years ago today, on the day we would have celebrated the anniversary of our first meeting all that time ago, I shake the dirt of the recently dug grave from my shoes. The tears still come freely, with every mention of her name. She would never realize how much I really loved her, how much I truly did care. Her name is caught in my throat each time I utter it. Now, when anyone asks me, I can only sit in my chair, in the corner of the room, where the yellow light of the lamp is my only comfort. I only sit there, and I can only say, “Love had a name, it had a name… Sally was love, love was Sally, it had a name!”