Remember me?
The forgotten one with the penchant to help lost souls, even though I myself am lost. Thesay that that which does not kill you only makes you stronger...or makes you mad enough with a vengeance to search out and find that which tried to kill you in the first place.
Am I mad? Am I mad because I have tried to find that very thing...Death? death is no stranger to me. He comes in the middle of the night like a theifto steal away my loved ones and the ones I care about. He stole away my mother, my father, my beautiful, belove, princess, Carrie.
Yes, I mourned for my mother and my father, but not as deeply as I have mourned for my beloved Carrie. Some say circumstances change people, sometimes right down to the very core. And I have changed. I am not the same man that I was a year ago. Not the same gentle, kind, giving soul who would literally give the shirt off his very back to one in need. No, I am much different today. More callous and cautious. Carrie's death saw to that. I have now become what American floklore refers to as a "hermit". Living in my ruins of ashes and debris. Venturing out every now and then just to see what the world will do to me next. Perchance waiting here for my beloved Carrie to return home to me.
I still talk to her you know? Does that make me mad or crazy? To talk to someone that you have loved and lost. or are you the crzy ones simply becaue you cannot see her or hear her anymore? And she answers me every time we talk.Oh, not in the waythat you and I would converse, but on a level of the mind that most humans have forgotten is there and how to use.
I still hear the water running in the tub in the evenings, the way it always did when was getting ready for her bath. Somtimes I still see her, clear as day, sitting on the sofa we had on the front porch painting her toenalis afterwards.
Maybe it's just guilt. The guilt that it should have been me laying there in that grave instead of her. Or maybe selfishness. That's it. It's selfeshness. Selfish thoughts and questions,like "Did she still love me, even till the end?" Or, "Did she blame me for what had happened to her like everyone keeps saying?" Somehow my mind and heart need these answers. But, when I talk to her, she never even give the slightest of clues. She talks about all the good times we shared. About how much fun she had with her family when we traveled to New Jersey for Christmas in 2005.
I don't, in my heart of hearts, believe that she blamed anyone for what had happened that fateful day. But I do! Oh yes, I do! And each of you know exactly who you are. the ones who defiled her in the past. The ones who made her think that she less than perfect. The ones who only came around or talked to her when it suited you and you felt the need to offer her money for services that you knew she did not do.
How Carrie did loathe this. To be treated as a piece of meat. Carrie knew that I loved her for her. I loved her for her pure child-like heart. For her inner beauty as well as what was on the outside. This always gave her a radiance and beuaty that even the heavenly angels themselves stood in awe of.
But you...You chosen few who chose to make her life and livelihood a living hell. You I blame for her death. You were the ones who called her or showed up and got her to the point of recklessness and depression. The ones who got her so upset that she had gotten careless that day. The ones who made my Carrie lose all hope, no matter how hard I tried to reassure her.
I have come to conclude that once hope is gone, we are no longer human. We become something that merely tries to survive on sheer instinct. This race never actually developed from neandrethal to homosapien - we are still there babbling like monkeys. We striveto contradict today what we religiously upheld yesterday. Yet we still consider ourselves, the human species, superior. Superior to what?
Life is nothing more than a series of mundane gestures and idiotic thoughts put into motion. But I digress. I am getting away from the main topic of discussion here, my beloved Carrie. Perhaps I am going mad. random thoughts in incoherent patterns. Voices calling to me from beyond this world of distinction. Surely these are the rantings of a madman.
Where was I? Ah yes, Carrie. The most beautiful woman in the world to me. Her natural hair color was a brunette. When we first met, her hair was this color with a mix of blonde in it. Oh, but then she found out that I had a fetish for redheads and she dyed hers the second day.
It was that color until the end you know. Kind of ironic in a weird way. Her hair the color of flames and the tragic way in which shedied. But I am getting ahead of myself, as usual. I was describing my beloved princess. Beautiful auburn-red hair, cut just above the neck-line, but not too short. Her eyes. Oh, her gorgeous eyes. That's what first drew my attention to her when we first met. Those eyes. So deep that it felt as if I could fall in and drown and never want to escape. carrie had the kind of eyes that, depending on her mood, could make you feel as though the fires of hell would be cooler, But most of the time, her mood made her eyes look like the movie starlets of yesteryear. Deep and unbounding. The ones that with just a quick glance, could melt a man's heart and make him follow her to the ends of the earth and back. And I certainly would have. For my beautiful Carrie, I would have walked the depths of hell and planted explosives on the Devil's boilers.
And then, there was her nose. Cute, little upturned nose with just a small dimple at the very tip. Kind of reminded you of a cute little bunny nose. Her mouth. It was wide, but not too wide. Not meaning that she had a big mouth in no way. We had to remember that she came from Italian stock. Full, sensual lips. And when she smiled, it could bring even the biggest and toughest of men to their knees. That's what we all remember about our Carrie the most. She was always smiling, even in hard times.
Never have I come across any of her photo's that she wasn't smiling in them. Her attitude and her personality were always in high spirits, no matter what. Even though I was probably the only one in her life that knew she still mourned for her sister, Heather, after six years.
Her skin was the color of a porcelain doll. Not really white, but not so off-white. I guess one would call it olive. After all, she was Italian. And that she pointed out on more than one occassion. "You don't wanna get the Italian stirred up in me," she'd always say, "I'm just like my momma."
Carrie had always told me that her husband used to tell her that she was fat, and ugly, and lazy. That was very far from any truth that I knew. Carrie was so beautiful. She stood five feet and one inch tall, and...well we won't disclose her weight. She was always very self-conscious about that. Let's just say, she was every inch a lady. Not over-weight in the least bit. Full-figured was what I referred to her as, with legs and calves very well muscled. Almost athletic in a way.
She had the cutest little feet I had ever seen. Her toes curled slightly, making it seem as if she was walking on tip-toe all the time. But otherwise, her feet were strikingly sexy.
She said her husband always made sure she was dressed in baggy clothes. Not for me though. If she wanted to show it off, then let her. She was a grown woman in all aspects, and she loved to wear tight jeans, short skirts, and tops that left almost nothing to the imagination. I say, let her do it. She was a very beautiful and sexy woman.
To me, Carrie was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. I looked at other women, sure. Every man does, if he's human. Carrie knew, and she would let me know about it too. But she knew that I could never be with anyone else. I love her, and only her. I had told her from the beginning that if anything ever happened to her that I would love no other and surely would die myself.
