Awash in the Bittersweet

WELCOME TO ATATURK AIRPORT the sign screamed. I peered out the window. The airport looked smaller than I thought it might be, one of those 'it always look smaller when you are an adult' things, I suppose.

We had loved the souks in Dubai. We had wandered them, arm in arm, through the winter, through the hot days of spring. We talked to the sellers, drank fresh juice, smiled and laughed. Together, we were much better than we could have ever been on our own. Now that he is gone, I cannot return to the souks of Dubai. I cannot face myself there.

We were to go to Istanbul to wander the Grand Bazaar. Istanbul: legendary, mysterious, cryptically Turkish. But he succumbed to his fear, recklessly destroying us in the process. It took months, but I had given him the souks, and could not give him Istanbul. It was mine to take, mine to face, mine alone.

I stood at the Bazaar, peeking in, unsure. I felt a tug deep within me, a fear of entering, a fear of what I would feel. The night before I had steeled myself, swallowed more than my share of raki, and cried myself to sleep. In the morning, I rose with a feeling of resignation. He was not here. He would never be here again. He would never be with me again. I dressed, ate, and started walking up the cobbled street to the entrance. A flicker of him passed through me, a memory, a feeling, a ghost of what we once were.

The darkened doorway beckoned, but I couldn't move, the crowds swelling around me as I stood paralyzed. Finally, I put one foot in front of the other, just like I had spent my entire life doing. One foot in front of the other. Eventually, I'll get there. Eventually, I always do. Just keep walking.

I wandered the stalls, wistful. He would have loved it. He would have been grinning ear to ear. We would have laughed and remembered this forever. I was looking at the lamps when I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Quickly, I distracted myself, dickering for a lovely red lamp with an angel motif. I paid more than I wanted to, but walked away in one piece.

Everything was filled with him. The food, the drink, the endless rows of stalls, the colors, the music. Everything was an echo of what could have been. This was for us. This was us.

I looked through eyes not mine, but ours. The dreams of what might have been melted into the visions of what had become of us. Everything we had shared was inside me. Everything we had said, everything we had done, all the promises we had made to eachother. I had to carry on, had to find a way. Somehow. So I touched for him, smelled for him, laughed for him, and took it all in. For him. For us. For what might have been.

And through our eyes, I let the last tear fall.