AUGUSTA – WINTRYPOET

AUGUSTA

I walk alone through these familiar woods. A breeze blew in with the scent of honeysuckle, clinging to me like a humid dream. Sunlight dripped through the canopy of leaves, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of light and shadow. The beauty of nature never ceases to show more than my heart can bear. It’s a cruel irony. This overwhelming, breathtaking loveliness, intended for joy, becomes a magnifying glass for my loneliness. The vibrant green of the ferns, the cheerful chirping of the birds, the lazy hum of bees flitting between wildflowers – it all amplifies the emptiness beside me.

I’d brought Augusta here, to this very spot, countless times. We’d built a fort under the ancient oak and decorated it with moss and feathers. We’d whispered secrets into the murmuring stream, burying our anxieties with the smooth, grey stones. We’d painted each other’s faces with the juice of berries, laughing until our sides ached. This place was our sanctuary, our secret garden, blooming with the memories of shared laughter and whispered promises.

I was alone, a solitary sentinel guarding a happiness that no longer existed. The stream still gurgled, the birds still sang, but the melody felt discordant, a cruel reminder of the harmony that had vanished. I closed my eyes, willing the pain to subside, focusing on the rustle of leaves, the earthy scent of the soil.

Then I heard it. A twig snapped nearby. I opened my eyes, and there she was. Augusta.

She stood on the edge of the clearing, framed by the emerald foliage, a vision of ethereal beauty. The afternoon sun caught the copper strands of her hair, turning it to spun gold. She wore a simple white dress that billowed slightly in the gentle breeze, making her look like a woodland nymph.

And then it happened. She smiled.

Not a forced, polite smile. But a genuine, radiant smile that reached her eyes, crinkling the corners and making them sparkle like the stream itself. It was a smile I knew so intimately, a smile that had once been reserved solely for me. But this time, that dazzling smile wasn’t directed at me. It was for the man standing slightly behind her, his hand resting gently on her back.

Then my heart shattered in a thousand pieces when Augusta smiled, combing her hair. She was running her fingers through it and laughing at something he had said. It was a simple gesture, an act of intimacy that screamed volumes. The casual intimacy of two people completely and utterly in love. An intimacy that had once belonged to us.

The beauty of the forest, which moments before had been a poignant reminder of my loss, now felt like a physical assault. The vibrant colors seemed to mock me, the birdsong a chorus of derision. I turned and fled, stumbling through the undergrowth, blind with tears. The honeysuckle scent, once a comfort, now choked me.

I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, collapsing against the rough bark of a tree, gasping for breath. The pieces of my heart, scattered and broken, felt like shards of glass embedded in my chest.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. The beauty of nature had shown me more than my heart could bear. It had shown me everything I had lost. I knew, deep down, that she was happy. And that was the cruelest beauty of all.