Time has taught me how to elude myself – sometimes to the point of no return. You are marked on the countless pages in the history of a heart but you no longer live and breathe there.
Still I find you here, whatever that maybe – in the slightest motion and the faintest of smells, you might be in a crowd far away but I see you as clear as day, your words, and your thoughts and at times the cruelty of it all rings in my ear. But I can’t touch you – it is the only one of my senses left rendered.
There are no keepsakes – so in that way I’m free but there’s also a need to want those trinkets, those ‘things’. These are the euphemisms for what has been left and for what hasn’t. With sincerity, I have no books with anecdotes or pages marked just for me, CDs with songs that we lay on a carpet listening to, ink ridden letters, a t-shirt or two of yours on which I can dwell upon or photos to throw into the sea… and as we age the few memories I have will fade or I’ll induce amnesia as a coping mechanism. Or I suppose I will at least temporarily.
Remember when we snuck away from the world after the snow had finally subsided that Christmas? We found a restaurant late night by the sea and held hands whilst the waitress took our orders. We used to listen to the radio then instead of our CDs and I would sing as loud as I possibly could and you would smile and I would think I’ll forgive you for anything.
We have those drives from so long ago – the care free ones before even the choice of music playing in the car became a way of expressing what could not be openly said. Your choice in music was head banging and mine was soul shattering, we spoke volumes to each other through how loud that music was.
We started to disappear – first you and then me and instead of making good memories we began to dream of them. The ones I wanted and the ones you didn’t, lying on a car bonnet looking at the sky, blankets and hot chocolates on the beach, the mundane deeds like going shopping for groceries, spontaneous late night cravings for toast and chocolate, a board game here or there or maybe even just a chance to be.
The memories we have, the good, the bad and the ugly – co-exist but in conflict because unlike planets they cannot orbit as they are meant to, our own free will won’t let us and we project that free will on each other expecting the best, expecting the worst – expecting all the wrong things.
Instead I try to remember what I can. Like how many sugars you take in your tea but these details evade me. Instead I remember the moments in which I would make those cups of tea – with all the optimism of a girl in love finally living the dream and the tear or two that would fall for good measure along with the milk and cream as I thought of what events had preceded that cup of tea and that love did not intercede it.
Where did we go? If you are here you can’t see me, if I am I can’t see you. Even in our heart ache we’re in different places.
And then I see you when I sleep – those rare dreams, the ones you used to want to go back to sleep for and when you realize you don’t want to do that anymore, you don’t want to go back to sleep and have those dreams, it is only then and only then that the tears will come.
Being so close, so close to the finality of it all and then realizing the finality could be the end of it all but not the end of the world just seems so unfair and so wrong and you begin to long for the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind.