The first time I saw your eyes was when I was sixteen, Abigail Donna. The first time I saw you was the first time I had drew a blade across my wrist, perfectly ready to let go and be done with this cruel, savage world.
You were on the free channels then. You weren't something to be talked about, not someone to be recognized. You were singing about sadness and how that, through positive thinking and a good friend or two, everyone could eventually be happy.
The first time I saw your eyes was when I was sixteen years old.
The second time I saw your eyes was when I was eighteen, when I had been dreadfully depressed about year-end exams. I was supposed to be doing my homework that second time I saw you, but that didn't matter. Fate had her way of telling people to keep on going, because if she didn't send you subconscious signals, we'd all be gone in one way or another.
I saw your green eyes and instantly went back to when I was sixteen. The old scars on my wrist tingled, warm with pain, and I was back in that room, a young man with a knife to his wrist. I could almost feel the hot liquid that came from my body, that red blood that had bled so pretty.
When I saw you that second time, I was once more inspired. I was filled with hope, filled with the need to continue on, to take that one last test that everyone needs before they finally go out in the big box that is our world.
You helped me past those final tests with flying colors.
I saw you again, back when I was twenty-one. Terrible things liked to follow me around, Abigail, yes they did. They followed me wherever I went and told me to do bad things. To cut myself, to burn myself, to prick myself; it was all elementary. Easy as A, B, C and one, two, three, right?
My girlfriend cheated on me. What hurt the most was that I walked in on it, right when it was happening. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. My girlfriend, cheating on me with my best friend, in my own apartment.
Some people might say that's how the penny rolls, while others might say that you're supposed to deal with it, or let it go. Ta ta for now, go-getter girlfriend.
I'm not that kind of person though. I've never depended on anyone for my happiness, except for you, Abigail Donna. By that time, you had a CD out. Charming, that was what your first CD was called. I saw you on the street, passing by in a lime-green Lamborghini, that third time I saw you.
I wasn't sure if you saw me or not, but I saw you. I was a simple bystander, a simple person whom had been walking down the street that fateful day. And when I went back to my apartment, I put your CD in the stereo and listened to you sing about lilac-honey candles and how bad times got us down.
Over those years, I'd fallen in love with you. It was never a celebrity crush. How could my feelings of admiration, trust, and love be a simple crush when I felt like you had helped me my whole life? How could a man love a woman whom he didn't even know, other than adorning his house with autographed photos bought off EBay and sealing first-editions CDs in glass boxes?
I was just a teenager when I first met you, on the screen, on those free TV channels. And when I became a drinking-age man, I raised a glass of wine and toasted your life, all the while thinking that whenever I was down, you'd always be there for me.
I had married when I was thirty and had a child the next year. My work kept me away from my family, which pained me so much, but you were always there for me. While I loved my wife physically and emotionally, I loved you mentally, Abigail Donna. You, a woman whom had saved my life, would never lose that special place in my heart.
I had turned thirty-two the first time I saw you in person. I had gone down to the local bar for a drink, hoping to drain my worries with a little of the sweet stuff. When I expected cabaret dancers dancing on poles and drag queens who played their roles, I saw you instead. I saw you, a diva, a beauty, the reason I was still alive. You strolled out there, on that stage, in your lime-green heels and your extravagant deals.
You sang a song about life, and how people you didn't know could change your own so much.
I knew that song was for me.
Deep down, I truly believed that.
That memory I would forever cherish. I would never forget the way your voice sounded, the way your presence lit up the stage like a thousand pure diamonds. I would never forget the way you looked, your blonde hair pushed back, a golden sun peaking your universe. And I would never forget that twinkle in your eyes, the way the light reflected those green jewels of beauty. I would never forget the way you took a single glance at me, smiled, and then said that time was a given thing, and that a man should never forget the people he met.
I would never forget you.
My time was a given thing, and it was only confirmed when I was given three months to live. The people around me cried and said that, while I was here, they would do whatever I needed for them to do, that they would try and give me whatever I needed.
I didn't need anything. All I ever wanted was to hold my wife in my arms at night, to kiss my children whenever they came to visit. I was fifty years old when the doctor told me that I had an inoperable brain tumor and that I had a twenty-five percent chance of living if they tried to removed it.
I had chosen to live the rest of my life as I felt fit.
That was the right choice, I knew that.
The last time I saw you was the month before I died. Like myself, you were a woman whom had let time do what it did to all people, in one way or another. Your blonde hair was now snow-white, your skin was etched with wrinkles. But you were still beautiful, Abigail Donna. You were still beautiful.
You had fallen out of the limelight after your husband left you, after you had given up all hope in your career. I had been angry when I had heard what he did. I had been angry. How could someone leave you, a goddess sent to earth? How could someone just walk over your heart and leave it thin?
I seen you in a jewelery store in a mall the last time I saw you. I occasionally went into the grand utopia of a public love affair to eat baked pretzels and to enjoy the plants and waterfall in the mall's square. I had been about to leave before I saw you, awing over jewels that you had once had but could no longer afford. The teller was clueless as to who you were. I was saddened. This woman, who was blessed with the presence of a diva, did not even recognize you.
Every moment of my life had led up to this. From the first time I put a knife to my wrist, to the time I was diagnosed with brain cancer; it was all leading up to this moment. It was all leading up to the moment that I'd meet you.
I stepped at your side and said hello, Abigail Donna. You had stared at me, surprised that I had known who you were. I told you the story of my life. I told you how you'd saved me from a knife, how you helped me get through high school, and how you helped me get through my first real heartbreak. Then I told you about my wonderful family, my beautiful wife, my son and my daughter. Then I told you that I had one more month to live.
A tear had traced your beautiful face. You had asked if there was anything you could do, that you'd had money that could help me. And I had shook my head and said no before leaning in and gently kissing your cheek.
I had told you that your eyes were what saved me, your beautiful, emerald eyes. You had hugged me and told me good luck before we passed our own separate ways.
I died that night, Abigail Donna, and besides my wife and my children, the last thing I saw was your eyes.