Old Papers

I went to visit you today. The sun had just dipped below the horizon of trees when this current tugged at my legs beckoning me to you. It might have been the cold wind. I’m sorry I don’t come more often, but after the trek to get to you I feel misplaced. There are no rules here, and the open space suffocates me. I am alone yet something hangs in the air, a stillness of everything being laid to rest, and I don’t want to interrupt the reverie of all who sleep here.

The truth is I’m afraid of you. I try to hide you away in a compartment in my chest, lock you away so I can get through the necessary evils of the everyday. If I let you out, I would certainly become overwhelmed with the waves and drown. I might get lost within the deep caverns and not find my way out. Acknowledging you means recognizing the pain of an earthquake, that’s so hard to do, you see.

I know the exact way to get to where you are, but walking towards you there is a hidden anticipation that maybe this stone won’t say your name. But it always does. The fake orchid is getting dirty now, I want to wash it off but I have no water. There are new tufts of grass growing around your gravestone and I don’t’ know how I feel about them. They spring up, uninvited, and make me think you are waving hello.

The words I say feel too loud for your peace, but you must hear them. You must know how I feel, for how many times did you not listen? Then no – I am selfish. Telling you my problems whilst you have none. Why should I lay my burdens at the foot of your bed instead of flowers, leaving you once again for months until I muster enough strength to throw myself your way?

The words I say do not feel like they are mine. They are spilling out of my mouth with the tears and these are the things I have dreamt about in those long lonely hours of solitude, when the desolation fills my stomach with an ache. These thoughts are those that are loosely packed away like old papers, they are ripped torn, yellowed and wrinkled. The ink is smeared, but I can still feel how the words are read. They say that I love you, that I am lost and confused. I am alone. I will live for you and do the things you could not. I promise I will not waste these few precious hours I have.

And then it is dark. I must go. And everything said feels like it was lost among the cool air; the sun stole my words away as it slipped over the edge of the world. Your name carved here, does not correlate with your face. In those last few moments they do. I see you laughing and then I see your name. And it all becomes one image. You are not here.

This is when time stands still, and every memory reels back and slams into my stomach. It has never gotten any easier. It has almost been a year, I thought it would go smoother. Maybe I would be able to look at your stone with resignation and acceptance. I always break just as much as the very first time, and I will always shed the same amount of tears. Your absence will never ease.

Sudden night does not scare me. The fact that I am a speck of light in this field of death does not make me feel small, merely surrounded. I left you as I would leave someone on the other side of a crowded room. I needed to leave, I needed air. I hope you understand.