Love Affair

Twenty Six

Bright orange flames dance around, warming our cold bodies as we sit huddled around the fire that's sizzling in my childhood garden. Niamh's tired eyes are trained on the dangerous flame, lost in the beauty and deep in thought as she clutches her old journal between her fingers.

We came here once Niamh felt ready to stand from her childhood bedroom floor, she was very shaky and mentally exhausted which is understandable. She's brought up memories and emotions she's kept buried for years, her decision to destroy the physical memory must have been hard but I'm proud of her - I'll forever be proud of my girl.

I've never met someone stronger than her, I feel incredibly grateful to call her my wife, my forever girl that I'll hold and love until the stars explode.

Her brown eyes hold the flame, captivated by the dancing shades of orange that tangle and swirl above the crackling wooden logs.

Harry resides beside her, dawned in comfy clothes with a beanie hiding his head - he's been quiet today but I think it's because he holds a lot of worry for Niamh who also has kept to herself.

It's strange seeing two usually very bubbly characters squished down, almost like they're not sure how to fill the silent gaps they once consumed.

Niamh's fluffy sock covered feet rest near the rocks surrounding the fire, keeping them warm while she rests her head on my shoulder - our bodies close, she finds the comfort she's always craved in my arms and I'll forever be there to hold her.

Her knuckles graze over the front of the journal repeatedly, sliding up and down slowly as she feels the hard page while waiting for the moment she feels ready to discard it forever. She needs to be completely ready because as soon as the pages leave her hand and land in that fire I don't know how fast I could save it if she regrets throwing it - it's a hard decision but she knows she needs to do it.

The sound of crunching shoes on gravel makes her turn to look behind her, I know it's my parents approaching because they're the only other people around. When I asked if we could have a little fire in the garden they went out to specifically get Niamh marshmallows to toast over it, something she's loved doing since she was a tiny girl.

I can't even count the amount of sleepovers her and Patrick would have over here where we'd roast marshmallows over a fire before getting cosy in the large tent my dad would put up for us. Niamh always got the fold out bed with a cosy duvet and pillow while her brother and I would have sleeping bags and a mat to lay on.

She was always smiling, putting on this faux happiness that tricked me into believing she was nothing but ecstatic constantly - a red flag in itself. Niamh was the happy little ballerina that was always giggling away, doing pirouettes in the living room or trying to teach me how to do her hair for small performances.

Little Niamh Murphy was well on her way to something special with her talents in ballet. It's a shame she stopped but it wasn't healthy for her to continue, what was once her escape became a toxic place that destroyed the view she had on herself. I do love seeing her still show off some of the moves that she can execute flawlessly, watching her twirl around with a bright smile on her face like she's found the buried love for the sport she once despised.