The Greatest Love Story Ever Told
Amerson never forgot those brown eyes. When she was close to death, it wasn't her wife's dark green eyes she pictured, it was those damn brown eyes. The brown of a soil right after being wet, the brown of dark chocolate melted in a pot, the brown of life, of laughter. The eyes that were always a thousand miles away, the eyes that never quite met anyone else's, the eyes that were so full of emotion, that it always made Amerson catch her breath.
It was in that moment, right before death came, where she was struggling to breath, mostly because she didn't want to, she remember how those brown eyes became lighter when she laughed, loud and uncaring, or the way her eyes became darker, almost black when she was full of anger and lust, and how for her, it was almost interchangeable, those two emotions.
And Amerson remembered the look in her eyes the day Eliza told her it was over. The attempted stoic face failed because of those eyes. The eyes that refused to shed the tears, the eyes that were not a thousand miles away, the eyes that were there, hard, the eyes that were neither dark nor light, but in that moment more beautiful than ever. Eliza had no trembling voice or lips as she pronounced them over, her high chin was the only indicator of any emotion, minus her eyes.
But the moment, the only moment that really mattered to Amerson was after she had nodded, understanding why and Eliza's eyes crumbled for half a second, expecting Amerson to fight for her, to stay. But Eliza blinked slowly, and turned around, walking away calmly. But it was in that half-second of hurt, in that half-second of pain that Amerson knew Eliza still loved her, and she would still love her. They weren't breaking up because either of them wanted it, but they had to, they had to move on and not hurt each other any longer.
"Sometimes, your greatest love, your greatest love story you'll ever tell, that's not who you end up with. Just because a love ends doesn't make a failure or make it any less than a love that lasts, and I think that's what people forget," she remembers Eliza telling the class, clutching the copy of Wuthering Heights in her hands, "And Emily Bronte proves that because she drags on this … abusive relationship… because both characters refuse to let their great love end. Had they ended this when Catherine got married, this book wouldn't have been so destructive. But, they like most people are convinced that your greatest love is the one that lasts."
She remembered those words, two weeks after they had broken up. She remembered those words on her wedding day. She had repeated those words to her kids, when they got their first heartbreak. And she remembered them now, as she took her last breath. As her wife's hand squeezed gently, as her kid's tears dropped on her face as they attempted to kiss her goodbye.
She remembered her greatest love story-she remembered the greatest love story ever told.