In the picture we are standing at the top of the world, the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.

 

The sun has just risen, the sky a dome of pink and purple, the air thick and heavy. I see you perched there, like Ed Hillary, covered in electric blue down, mirrored sunglasses. In your hand you hold a stolen bottle of airplane whisky, toasting our guides.

You wear a customary half smile, the sun lighting your disheveled blond hair like a halo, your breath forming smoky circles in front of you.

I am standing next to you, long tangled locks of raven hair blowing beneath my sherpa hat, a big toothy smile, brown eyes crinkled and sparkling like crescent moons.

Beneath an icy glove I am wearing the ring you have just given me. The green stone is shining, reflecting off the snow like a talisman. My breath is labored, like a scuba diver's but my smile stretches from ear to ear.

We are young.

We are happy.

We are naive.

I still believe in fairytales, in the promise of forever.

For now, this haunting is sweet.

You have just asked me to marry you and I have agreed. We stand together atop the roof of Africa with all things bright and beautiful.

 

Now, you will be my home.

We expect to live happily ever after, to travel the world side by side, swimming in jungle pools drinking red wine and almond tequila.

You will sing me Swahili love songs and brush the hair from my eyes. Your incandescent promises will whisper to me like prayers.

We will dance naked in our little cottage by the sea, safe behind the white picket fence, our house will be filled with laughter.

These are only dreams of course. We have no idea what lies in store for us. Blinded by your incantation, I am enveloped by your spell.

Later, things will change.

There will be black nights bathed in tears, smiles that pretend, angel embraces from little boys too young to witness the suffocation of a soul.

I will be left to wander naked and alone inside the cool blue shades of midnight adorned by a bracelet of bruises.

Still, I will come to you, broken but hopeful. I'll slide beneath the cloud covers, wrapping myself around you like licorice. I will continue to look for the light.

You will turn your back to me, ignoring my hot tears and beating heart. You will laugh as you watch me chasing happiness and inside I will slowly turn to stone.

 

My eyes will no longer shine.

Your love is a noose that invites the sort of rage that can only end in silence.

Looking at this picture I want to say to you:

Savor this moment at the top of the world, wear it in your heart like a tattoo. Just know that as soon as you walk back down the side of this mountain you will not feel this way again.

Everything will be different.

You are the wrong man.  You are going to do things you cannot imagine you would ever do. You are going to make me suffer in ways I've never dreamt. 

I am going to lay in a bed of tears, a baby boy tossing inside me, kicking at my ribs. 

I will want to escape.

To leave.

At times, even to die.

I look at this picture now and want to go up to the two people there, standing proudly atop that mountain and whisper:

this is as good as it gets.

I want to tell that pretty girl that the glistening ring will be a brick, that it will drown her. She will lay at the bottom of the ocean, looking up, wondering what went wrong.

I want to tell him that she will make him pay.

But, I don't. I am as frozen as this moment in time. I have the kind of knowledge now that only comes from pain.