All Things Green, And What They Mean

I can’t bear to listen. But your voice is the only voice I want to hear.

In your letter you say you’ve said things on the tape that you should have said more often. Things that really matter. But I don’t know if I can bear to hear them now that I can’t apologise, now that I can’t tell you the truth, let alone kiss you, make love to you, thank you for your courage and your unconditional love. Now that we can’t even be in the same room.

Green is the colour of life and regeneration, you once said. It’s also the colour of jealousy. I said I didn’t like symbols. Thought you were telling me one of those quirky little things you liked discovering and squirrelling away. But now I know you were trying to get me to open up. Offering me a way in. By talking about all things green. And what they mean.

I’d give anything to go back to that conversation. Anything. You were willing to hear things I don’t think I could have borne if you’d done what I did. But I never did tell you, never did admit to my affair. You died without knowing what a terrible mistake I made, without knowing that my affair showed me how much I loved you.

But I must find your courage, your compassion, your forgiveness, your willingness to listen, in myself. Otherwise the days left to me will erode in the green bile of my guilt.