Featured in 2015 Spring Issue of Rambunctious
By Danielle Jaffe, ’18
Here is what I left out…
His eyes used to shimmer to the glare of my admiration. His heart glistened in my love. When I looked in his eyes, I saw deep into the shadows of his soul, to all corners that spiders called home. We connected deeply. We locked eyes every time we even glared in the general vicinity the opposite stood. We had this deep connection no one could fathom to have. It was September 16th, 2007 when we locked lips for the first time, the fifth floor, room 2872, the common room in the dorm hall. We shared the same cushions to sit upon, inching closer together by the second. The moment we touched there was a spark of chemistry. Before I could comprehend our love, and still can not ’til this day, my daddy was walking me down the aisle in this lace satin, eggshell-colored gown with my hair curled off to the side in a loose bun. He wanted to call me his, so I was. It was exactly three years and 15 days later that the doctor knocked on the door and told us it was neuroblastoma. It was a reality check for us. The doctor said he only had about three months to live. He passed two weeks later, not only because of the cancer, but the depression. He was depressed of losing me, and I of him.