your hair is beautiful. it shines like the sun does on days when you feel warm for the first time in months. and when you walk, it caresses your shoulders with such purpose that i know you never feel alone.

you arms are long and defined, the skin a dark olive that reminds me of the sand on my favorite beach. toasted brown from the kiss of the sun.

your back is strong, and some god ran his finger along the center of it. you stand tall, and i know you are holding up the weight of the world, but you look so beautiful doing it.

your legs look sturdy, as they carry you long the side of the river. they overtake such obstacles with no falter, and you seem to float along the walkway like a cloud lost in the beauty of the world.

your feet are small, and seem so vulnerable to me. the tender skin against the rough of the earth, yet they never bleed. i want to touch them then, feel the soft skin against my cracked and torn fingers.

i walk faster, then start to run, as i reach out to you. my feet lose there footing and i stumble over and over again, yet i continue to run. faster and faster, yet you still seem so far away. i hold out my hand, so close to your shining hair.

as i get there, my fingers pressed against your back and my breath heaving in my body, i begin to turn you. please, i beg anyone, let me see your beautiful face. my fingers tremble and my stomach rises quickly, for this is the moment when i’ll see you.

when you turn, i gasp. my eyes drop, and my fingers go numb. underneath the curtain of satin hair, sitting among the caressed shoulders and carved back, leading the strong arms and soft feet, lay nothing. a blank canvas, disregarded and forgotten. an absence of so much that it all turns dark. the beauty disappears and all there is is me, holding the forgotten remains of what used to be.

The birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves. I run my hand along the ground, the dirt kissing my sleeves.

The grass cries sweet nothings about the time we lay here last But that time was only then, and I have to leave you in the past.

I miss when it was summer, and the trees would hold our hand Because now cold and autumn has come, and I don’t want to stand.

Come back to me, dear summer, come back and say hello I miss when I was happy, when everything was yellow

I tell you now, and please beware, beyond the weeping cries Spring calls out for growing season, because everything must die.

I think we had all gotten into the habit of it, the fear that came on these days. Over and over again we wait breathless and she curls her wrinkly, old fingers around one name that was trapped in this fate. I think after the past six years, I became okay with the fear. It was something of normal to me as I pulled my hair up with the nice pins mom got for me and tied the silk dress around my battered skin. I think, as I walk along the dirt road holding the hem of my dress above the mud, some part of me knew that the odds were in my favor. Whether it be luck from the gods or my starvation over that past years of my childhood, some part of me was for certain my fate was more than death by this. That is, until my certainty was proved wrong.

Their hands dug deep into my skin as they gripped firmly around my arms. I stuttered, but what was it that I could say that would change this moment, would save me from this prison. They walked swiftly, the sound of determination under their feet. My feet stumbled and I fell into them, but all for them to continue on, dragging me in their wake. My dress, once white and satin, stood brown and spotted against my pale skin.
They drug me along the road I knew so well, but through the dust it all seemed different now. I started to choke among the dirt and water dropped from my eyes. They threw me on the ground along the front edge of my house and stood back. As I lay there, dirty and harassed, on the ground of the place I called home, it all seemed so silly now. That feeling of safety, the feeling of knowledge. Despite everything, all that I’ve survived, I lay here facing death eye to eye. 

I stumbled to my feet, running a hand over my satin skirt, and looked inside. Empty, as empty as it had been when I left this morning. As empty as it had been since mom died. One of them nudged at me, their grimy hand leaving a mark on my red and swollen arms. I slipped through the door and turned to see what was all of my life, gathered in one little room. I ran my hand along the foot of my bed and my eyes wandered to the little amount of things that sat among the tabletops. Empty jars, her necklace, and pages among pages of writing. What would become of it all when I was gone? Would it burn, or simply turn to ash among the dirt floor, as if it, I, had never even existed. I could hear one of them outside stir and I knew they were getting anxious. I quickly moved through the room, opening any drawer or cupboard, looking for anything of aid to me in the pathway of death. My fingers rolled over old clothes and tattered books, all useless until my hand stopped. My breath stopped. Sitting in the back corner of my nightstand, filtered with dust and cobwebs, lay my mothers journal. I had never dared to open it, but could never give it away. She never told me much of her past, and I knew better than to ask, but there was always the things I suspected of her. From the scars, the tears, the strength she held always. My breath felt uneven as my mind searched all the times I had almost asked her if, maybe, it was true. I pulled the book from its temporary life and ran my finger along the dust covered front. I took one more deep breath, and flipped to the first page. It read:

          July 27
  I was selected today for the Hunger Games.

She faltered, and I reached my hand out to catch her as if I could stop this from settling down on her. I could see it, the tensing of her muscles, her bones even, as each of them twitched up from her feet to the expression on her face. So many emotions were printed across her eyes, it almost seemed blank. As if this was the moment when she finally left herself, gone from this world and onto the next. The next moment her face broke, her mouth cracked open into a hoarse cry as she began to crumble from the inside out. Her knees gave in and she stumbled to the floor, her beautifully curled hair a blanket as her tears began to drop. She curled up on the floor, the same one that was the stage for our board games last night, and hugged her knees in so tightly as if to suffocate this moment that had come upon us. She look so small then, a fragment of imagination as we ponder what could be in moments of fear. Except this isn’t what could be, because it’s instead what is. He died, he is dead, and any imagination has been forced into the reality of this moment. “No, no, no…” she whispered in the palms of her hands. “No, it’s not true.” This is when I began to cry. I felt a tear slip down my face as I watched her, in slow motion, break. I stood there, the sun beaming through the glass of the door and shining on her like a spotlight as she sobbed into her knees. I stood there and watched, because there was nothing I could do to fix this for her. Nothing I could say that would make her eyes stop shining from the tears that came quickly. We both stayed there in that moment, frozen in the time that had caught up with us, and cried into the warm sunlight that surrounded us.

I was happy today, I think. But then something happened, Something always does. And the happiness melted away, Like snow admits the afternoon sun.

We were happy together, Most of the time. We had days we wish would last a lifetime. Time didn’t count its path when we were together, Until it did. Now we are alone together, Missing what once was ours.

I am happy sometimes, But it is seeming less and less. What is it that pulls at me, Begs me to find it, And be happy forever.

I can feel it, I can almost see on the days we were together, But now it seems even more distant than before. Was I ever even close, And will it ever come again.

Have I ever even walked The thin line between happiness and joy.

i wake up i get dressed i leave for work

i see the shoes you left that day and cry about how you left so quickly that you stepped barefoot in the snow

i get in my car i drive to the corner i get my coffee

i stop and stare at the table you told me some bullshit about how it was you and not me and left me broken on the seat at our favorite coffee shop

i go to work i leave work i wander the park

i cry again because we will never lay here and talk about how beautiful the sky is as it changes over the hours we stay

i walk to my car i stop i sit on a bench and cry

for the first time in months, i looks up to the sky and see the explosion of pink and blues as the sun says goodnight to another day

i sit there for an hour i sit there for two i think of how beautiful it still is even after you’re gone

i wake up i get dressed i leave for work

i stop by the door for a moment so i can sweep up your shoes and throw them in the trash as i leave my apartment

i get in my car i drive to the corner i keep driving

i stop by the bakery that one friend told me to try but never did because you didn’t want to

i go to work i leave work i sit in the park

i watch the sunset every night, not because we did, but because it has always been my favorite thing even before you met me

i love you, some part of me always will but i know now that you weren’t all of me. i know even that you left, i’m still me. still the same person in love with the colors of the sun.

The sun jars me awake as I roll over to your side of the bed. No, not yours, anymore. I groan into the empty silence of my apartment as I struggle out of the covers. How I wish I could stay here, in the bed we once shared, and dream of how it used to be. My hand resting against the heat of your skin, your fingers rolling through my hair as the sun shines patterns around us in the morning light.

Another round of my alarm going off forced me from whatever dream I was so desperately trying to hold onto. I stumble to the bathroom, fumble with my toothbrush, and run a brush through my brittle hair. I pause, because your cologne is still on the counter. I won’t use it. Hell, I can’t get myself to touch it; but maybe if it stays there, one day you’ll come back to get it.

Threading my blouse into the waist of my skirt, I wander into the kitchen. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I don’t eat much anymore. I twist and turn around my cupboards, procrastinating anything that isn’t staying here and thinking about you all day.

I get myself in shoes and out the door, but stop when I see your sneakers by the last step to the garage. It’s been a year, but the garage would feel wrong if I moved them. Empty, even emptier than everything else feels. I give them one more glance, then force myself forward. I’m always forcing myself forward these days.

I’m right there, the exit on the highway to my office, but lets be honest I knew I couldn’t make it there today. Instead I drive a mile farther and take the second exit down, the one that leads to you.

I pull into the gravel parking lot and shuffle through loose paper and books in the backseat to find my scarf, the one you gave me on our first date when I was cold. Maybe it was perfect then, and I took it for granted. Now I’m cold all the time, and you’re not there anymore.

I wander aimlessly along the studded pathway, my feet brushing past dead flowers and broken hearts. I brush my hand along the tips of the leaves that hang over head and remember autumn with you, the red an immense contrast to the green of your eyes and we walked through the leaves of everything we were trying to leave behind.

I see you, or at least what’s suppose to be you, and pause. My thoughts were gone, and all there was in the world was me and you, even if that’s gone too. I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace you gave me the day you died. I can’t bear to wear that day on my neck, but it still means something. I wrap it in the scarf that still smells like you and place it on the ground next to shriveled roses.

I lay down on the dirt and place my head in the grass. It smells sweet, and I breath it in deeply. The tears drip from my eyes, but I think at least the grass can wipe my tears even if you can’t.

I stay there, because there is no where I’d rather be than next to you. Forever.

The sun cried on the hood of my car as we cruised through the hills of our suburban neighborhood. The music was loud, but my thoughts were louder as each moment of her silence dug deeper into me. I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated at the realization that nothing I was thinking could be good enough to say in this moment. I raised my coffee to my lips, like a mother raises a pacifier to a baby to stop them from crying; hoping that the sweet taste would stop the words from tumbling out, stop me from saying something stupid like “I love you.” Ten silencing sips later, and three skipped songs because I couldn’t bear listen to them with her next to me, she cleared her throat and began to speak. “I’m sorry about last night.” This was all she said for a moment, as if she couldn’t quite think of what to follow it with. Eventually she started again, hesitating a little after each thought. “I shouldn’t have just been silent. I just wasn’t quite sure what to say. No one has ever confessed that to me, that I am all they think about. I guess I thought, with all the time we spend together, that that wouldn’t be something you would hide from me. I just was surprised I guess. I didn’t know what to say.” The clouds in front of us were dusted with pink as the sun slid down the side of the sky, running for the horizon. Part of me wanted to disappear with it, taking all the light with me, so I didn’t have to live in this moment. But as the sun melted away, I was still here, driving the winding, purposeless roads of our neighborhood. “I think—“ I started, but decided to pause and refigure my sentence once again. Part of me wanted to do something to stop it. To jerk the wheel left and give us something bigger than this to focus on. Instead, I took a deep breath and started again, my eyes set on the pink horizon. “I think I needed it… the silence.” The clouds were graying from the retreating light. “I guess I still had this… hope. You know I’m a hopeless romantic, and my imagination is a big part of me. I guess I thought, after building up this confidence and finally being ready, I would tell you this and… and you would be so relieved because you felt the same way but was also scared of it, of what it meant. I guess I knew deep down that we were past our expiration date, but if I never told you, the hope would never die. But now— now there is no storybook ending and I can see it clearly now. The reality of being too late.” The sun was gone, fully submerged under the shield of the mountains. I missed it now, it’s beauty. I envied its escape. The clouds lay still and dark, and the silence returned to the world. This is when I turned to her, to see if she was even still there or if she had been a fragment of my imagination all along. She looked at me, then at the absent sun, then at the floor. She opened her mouth to say something, and even after everything I couldn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat. But her mouth was closed again before anything came out. I returned my gaze to the horizon. If anything, at least the sky hadn’t left me now, or ever. At least the clouds are stuck in the gray, dark times just as much as I am. At least I can convince myself I’m not fully alone. I turned the radio up, enough that my unsteady breathing was masked by the running piano on tape. I brought my coffee to my lips, not to stop myself from speaking, but to suppress the sobs that were threatening to burst

I remember this part

I remember when we were sitting here, When you got up and I stayed. I remember you leaving, you always left. And I stayed here, in our spot.

I remember you said something to me, as you left. Some broken words about how it wasn’t what I thought it was. But how can I understand these things when your back is turned to me. When I have to watch you leave. Again.

I once said that loving is staying, And I have stayed for a while now. And it’s not that I don’t love you anymore, Because I do. But I can’t stay here any more. I’ve stayed long enough for the both of us.

I remember this part. I remember it last time and the time before that. I remember it so much that I don’t think it hurts as bad, Watching you leave me again this time.