“It’s been a while.”

“…”

“Where have you been? I missed you.”

“Not everything is for you to know.” __ __ “Maybe. Maybe this should have been.”

“…” __ __ “Do you ever feel guilty?”

“About what?”

“…Nevermind.”

“If you’re just here to berate me, then leave. Give a dying person peace.” __ __ “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Dying.”

“It feels like I am.”

“Oh.”

“…” __ __ “What does it feel like?”

“To die?” __ __ “Yes.”

“It feels like something is catching up to me.” __ __ “I can only pray it’s your past.”

“That isn’t fair.” __ __ “…”

“We all make mistakes. Mine just seemed to affect you the most.” __ __ “That’s because I loved you.”

“…” __ __ “Don’t act like you didn’t know.” __ “Don’t act like you still know me.”

“…”

“Was it you or I that stopped reaching out?” __ __ “Does it matter? Wouldn’t we still be here, all these years later, you on your deathbed? Would any of it have mattered if you knew?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why do you ask?”

“I suppose questions are natural of someone who’s about to lose every chance of getting them answered.” __ __ “So you’ve lost hope, then.”

“I don’t have any choice.” __ __ “Don’t you want to fight? Don’t you care any longer? Don’t you remember what it felt like to want to have a choice?”

“I have forgotten.”

(This is a new idea I’ve got! It’s got the characters I’ve written a little bit about, Lycoln and Makenzie. It’s pretty late so remember that as you read. I just want feedback, and I want to know if anyone is interested in these guys. Thanks for the reads!!! I love you guys!!!!❤️)

It was cold outside. Colder than it should’ve been. The wind blew dead leaves across the ground. I walked slowly my head bent down and my hood pulled far over my face. This must be what it’s like to be alone. I thought as I let my gaze fall to the crisp, brown leaves that scattered across the sidewalk.

There’s almost something deadly about the silence of knowing you’re alone. But it’s worse it’s worse because being alone makes you do stupid things. Things you wouldn’t have done otherwise. Things like going to you school’s football game, cheering as loud as you could even though you’d never even made a peep in classes, and running out to the field after the game to talk to your crush. Acting as if he knew you, talking to him, getting lost in your dreams of what could be. Only to have him smile awkwardly and avoid your eyes.

I was more than alone that night. All I could think about was History class. How he’d been there since the first day, how he’d talk to his friends but never interrupt class, how he’d always introduce himself to subs giving them high fives and asking their names. All things that only caught my attention after I was already in love with him. I’m sure I would’ve noticed his kind, beautiful personality before I fell for him, but liking him just highlighted everything he did in the brightest color.

We had a sub that day, yesterday. The day of the game. He’d done his usual, smiling that smile, walking up to the teacher’s desk where the nervous sub stared at the sheet of directions the teacher had left. He’d make himself noticed by hovering over her until she looked up. I couldn’t even see his face, only his back. And yet I knew what he’d done, the smile that spread across the subs face was the give away, he’d smiled at her. A smile unlike any other, a smile you couldn’t help but smile back to.

Then he’d said his name Lyncoln Keller, which then led to the sub saying her name. Then he lifted his hand up high, and gave her a high five that echoed in my mind. I wanted that to be my hand touching his, feeling his warm touch, feeling him.

One thing led to another. I felt alone I wanted that to be my hand, so I went to his game that night. The lights were so bright, shinning in my eyes the entire time but I didn’t notice all I could see was him. His black jersey with number 83 written in light blue across his back. It had become my favorite number after that, and I had an itching feeling that it always would be.

The rest is pretty straight forward. I didn’t get his famous smile, I didn’t get a high five, I didn’t even get a look of recognition. So here I am, pouting like a child walking in the cold evening with last night replaying over and over again in my mind.

I was an idiot, why the heck would Lyncoln ever want to talk to a girl like me? I’m a freaking idiot!

“Hey.”

I’m frozen by the sound of a voice. I let my eyes rise from the ground my breath leaving me just as fast as the wind blows around me.

It’s him….Lycoln Keller. Talking to….me?

“He…hey,” I stammer, avoiding his hazel, gold eyes. “It’s pretty cold out,” he says my eyes flicking on and off of his. I nod, what’s going on? “Yeah.” “I saw you last night.” I nod again, my eyes glued to the sidewalk. “Oh, yeah….” I trail off. “Sorry.” My heart starts racing, my cheeks burning hotter than the sun. Lycoln Keller….Lycoln Keller is talking to me.

“Don’t be,” Lycoln brings my attention back to him. I meet his eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was pretty rude, I didn’t mean to be. I just never thought you’d ever talk to me.” What? “No,” I say quickly. “Don’t apologize.”

Lycoln smiles then. I melt, it’s that smile. The Lycoln Keller smile. “Well, I just wanted to say thanks for coming. And for reaching out, I’d be glad to see you next week if you’re free.”

Did he just invite me to his next game? “Next week?” I ask. “Your game?” Lycoln nods. “Yeah, it’s at 7:00. Although I guess you knew that.” I did know that, of course I did it’s my favorite time of Friday nights.

“Will you do something?” I blurt out. “Sure, what’s up?” I take a deep breath. “Forget about last night. I feel stupid about it.” “Alright,” Lycoln agrees. “But it’s really alright. I didn’t mind you coming and saying hi. Feel free to do that actually, anytime.”

Now I smile. It’s probably not as perfect as the Lycoln Keller smile. Who am I kidding? Of course it’s not as perfect as the Lycoln Keller smile, but it does make him smile that smile so I guess there’s a plus.

“If you’ll forget?” I say again, hoping he’ll just take the hint. I’m embarrassed, beyond embarrassment.

Lycoln laughed then. A laugh only more beautiful than his smile. “Alright then.” He meets my eyes his smile still there, as he lifts his hand up. Can you read minds? I think as I begin to lift mine. _‘Cause you freaking just read mine. _ And then our hands touch, but they don’t leave after the loud clap ends. They stay together and that makes Lycoln smile.

“I have forgotten,” he whispers.

I lived over twenty years of my life before you. It was a good, full life. I laughed and I cried before you, I accomplished great things and I failed miserably before you, I was loved and I was heartbroken before you. I lived a lot of life before you. But somehow in the moment of meeting you, I couldn’t remember a single thing about that life.

The first time I looked into your dark eyes and held you in my arms, I knew my life would forever be defined by that moment. In the timeline of my life, events would now be categorized as “before you” and “with you”. You crashed into my world and conquered my heart instantaneously. Nothing else mattered except knowing and loving you.

But life on this earth is fleeting, and we never know how much of it we get to live. There may come a day when I have to add the category of “after you” to my timeline. On that day, my heart will break into a million pieces, each one holding a precious memory of you. Events in the “after you” will remind me of events in the “with you”. I will wish to trade everything to go back and have another moment with you, only to be denied by reality.

But today, we are still in the “with you” so I will hold onto it tightly. I will be thankful for every moment. I will cherish the new laughs and new tears with you. I will appreciate the new accomplishments and new failures with you. I will learn from the new loves and the new heartbreaks with you. So much so, that when someone asks what life was like in the twenty or so years before you, I can say, “I have forgotten.”

Sometimes I wonder what the worst death is. The most terrifying is drowning or suffocation. The most unnecessary is a car crash. The most heart wrenching is giving up your own. But the worst…? The one that no other beats, The one that kills the person who’s already dead, The one that is terrifying and unnecessary and heart wrenching Is dying for nothing.

I don’t want to die like that. I don’t want to die in a nothing way. I don’t want to disappear and have a few people cry over me. I don’t want to be forgotten.

I’ve been drowning in my nothing dreams, My nothing hopes, My nothing fears, My nothing problems, For so long. Maybe that’s why I cling to my sickness, My broken part of my mind. I hate it, But hating something is something. It makes me something. It makes me more than nothing.

And I’m sick of being nothing. I’m sick of slipping away. So I’m going to be something. Someone. I might be the girl who hates herself, The girl who is grey grey grey, Who burst with red red red and blue and green and purple. I’m embarrassed to be seen in public with her, But she’s still someone. She’s so sure she isn’t enough That she has something to hang on to, Something to believe in.

Or I could be the girl who’s second chair viola, The girl who’s in track, The girl who always gets A’s, The girl who tries and tries. She works so hard to be enough, And in the end, She is.

Or I could be the girl who laughs with her friends, Who doesn’t care what other people think, Who is friendly and kind to everyone, Who is helpful and honest, Who shines with her own radiance, Who doesn’t need anyone else to tell her she’s enough. She already knows it.

Or maybe… I could be all of those. Maybe it doesn’t matter who I am, As long as I am someone. Maybe I really can be whoever I want.

Or maybe I’ll never be enough for myself. Maybe I’ll always be a nothing girl…

I have known one of my best friends since 1st grade.

She always knows my birthday.

She listens and is very funny.

April 5th is her birthday.

But!

I can never remember.

I did it again 😢

She had to tell me… YESTERDAY!!!

I HAVE FORGOTTEN!!!!

🫣

Evelyne sat in her cramped cubicle, furiously typing away. Each clank of the keys, the whispers of the gossiping editors, and the sound of coffee brewing weren’t enough to distract her from putting her words onto paper. It was only when the infuriatingly familiar grey pair of eyes she felt staring at her decided to speak, that she finally looked back.

“Mrs. Smint finally kicked the bucket” Louis mused, reading the half completed obituary from behind.

She sighed, tilting the typewriter so the text was no longer in view. “If you truly care to read about her, the papers will be out by noon.”

Louis smiled, his long nose wrinkling up. He was a handsome young man, Evelyne always believed so. It was a pity, though, that his face was wasted on a someone like him.

“Why read it when I have you here as a great narrator to your little story” he drawled, leaning against the wobbly walls separating her cubicle and his.

Evelyn furrowed her brows, looking up at him with as much disdain as as a cat that licked vinagre. “That’s an awfully disrespectful thing to say! This is not a story, it’s the obituary of a recently deceased woman, and you should be treating it with respect!”

Louis’s eyes narrowed like the gaze of an eagle. “Is it not a story?” He asked. “Half of what you wrote is pure fiction.”

Evelyn resisted the urge to look back at what she had wrote. Instead, she held his gaze. Her red lips curved into a scowl. “It is not fiction. You would know, she was your teacher to.”

It was true that Evelyne knew Louis far before they ever began working for the same newspaper. The went to school together, had mutual friends, and shared the same fifth grade class—with Mrs. Smint as their teacher.

Louis pulled a rolling chair from his cubicle and sat on it backwards, his legs stretching past hers. Closer, she could smell the mint in his breath, a smell she hated. It was the opposite of subtle. Loud, flashy, and so very Louis.

“So, she was a ‘vibrant soul’ who ‘loved children’ and ‘spent all ninety years of her life helping others’?”

Evelyne bit the bottom of her lip, smudging the lipstick with her teeth. “Everyone exaggerates writing these. I’m only bringing out what the old woman was beyond her bitter skin.”

And bitter the woman truly was. She recalled that Mrs. Smint once slapped Louis silly with a yard stick for throwing paper wads at Evelyne, which resulted in only brief fondness before she also slapped Evelyne for provoking him. But still, part of the work was making even the awfullest of dead people flush with color they lacked while living.

“Well” Louis said. “We can all only hope to live as long as Mrs. Smint did.”

“You won’t if you keep smoking those things.” She nodded her head head towards a pack of cigarettes peeking out of the pockets of his slacks.

Louis chuckled, shaking his head so that his black mass of hair covered his face.

“If I died, you wouldn’t have to put up with me though.”

She liked putting up with him better than not having him around at all. The office was to dull without his constant bicker. Instead of revealing that, she said “and what peace that would bring.”

“I suppose I’ll grant you momentary peace then.” Louis rolled his chair back into the office, and a moment later she heard him typing.

She went back to writing the obituary, hoping it would be her last for the day.

              Five years later
                        ***

Evelyne is writing her final obituary. Her things are all packed up into two boxes, one with her picture frames and pencils, and another with his stuff.

𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚛, 𝟸𝟻, 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛. 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚐 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍.

Not a word of it is a lie, just as Louise would have wanted.

Evelyne tears the paper out and passes it to her editor, a girl named Fran who is rather new.

“Evelyne” Fran sighs. “We will miss you. And I’m so sorry about Louise.”

Evelyne smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You know, we always use to fight like an old married couple. I suppose those times made up for the years we won’t have.”

“And why did you fight?” Fran asks. “I’m sorry if that’s very direct, I’m just curious.”

Evelyne opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Years worth of bickering, and for what?

“I have forgotten.”

How does it feel to fall in love? I didn’t know. Then I knew. The moment I met you.

What did it feel like when I fell in love? I knew with you. I used to know. What was that feeling? I have forgotten.

“Britain has declared war on Germany, one pound to read all about it!” I yell while waving a bundle of newspaper in the air. “Sir, will you like to buy-“, before I finish the man says, “I’m not interested”.

“Very well” I mumble.

I put the newspaper back in my messenger bag and take out a slice of bread. I sit on the curb with about another five boys trying to sell something on the streets to. One boy looks much younger than the rest of us. Most are around eight to twelve but the boy seems to be four. He cry’s as he rubs his stomach.

“What happened to that kid” I ask the freckled face boy next to me.

“Didn’t sell enough to buy any food I guess” he responds.

I look back at the little boy and see a part of myself in him. Cold, alone, hungry.

I lean over towards him and give him the slice of bread. His eyes light up with joy as he begin gobbling down every last crum.

The freckle face boy next to me sees what I have done and says, “if you give food to every starving kid on the streets, you’ll be starving to”.

“I sold enough today to get a whole loaf anyway”.

He shakes his head and continues eating the apple in his hands.

The boys across from us begin to laugh and soon the rest of the boys notice. What could be so funny that they laugh so loudly?

I’m not the only one who notices because the freckle faced boy I talked to asks,”what has gotten you so giddy?”

The two blond gleeful boys look at us and say, “we just remembered something our parents use to tell us”.

“And what is that?” I ask.

“If you ever have to sell something, sell booze, because that’s all people drink these days, so my brother here tried selling some, and it sold out quicker than two dogs devouring a slab of meat.”

“My parent told me that if I were to become an orphan, I should just get the coins out the fountains” says the freckle face boy.

Everybody begins telling story’s about their parents, even the little boy, but then the blonde brothers look at me and say, “do you have any memories of your parents.”

I try to think of them. Maybe how they sounded, or how they looked, or even how they smelled, but nothing comes to mind. “I have forgotten”.

Loving you was never simple, but I’m sad to say that I’m glad I no longer do. Love you, that is. There will always be moments that I will know changed me, and you will always be the reason. That I cannot forget, but I know that time moves on and if we don’t change with it, then we will always be left behind. Perhaps there’s nothing wrong with being behind, doing things slowly. Growing up in London there was never a chance to be passive or delayed, everything moved constantly and if you didn’t keep up, you’d lose yourself. It’s interesting that the idea of “being found” is gained by being productive. Taking what you want from life like it’s a free for all and that consumption is the weighing scale for happiness. What if we have gotten the wrong answer? I suppose that some people’s wrong answers are right and others are wrong. It depends on how quick you are to figure it out, that your life is “right” for you. Maybe it’s assuming of me to say, but I think the majority of us are so focused on insisting our answers are right, that we cannot see they are all wrong. There is nothing bad with accepting life for what it is, rat race included. Sometimes I wish I could just see things that way because it could be the simple life. You wanted a life of adventure and you made me want it too. You made me want to be the person I was, right in the depths of my soul and I would have given so much to shove whatever was “right” or “wrong” out the window. Everything fell apart one day. I’m still in London, and that adventure…I have forgotten.

All is fair in love and war, She’s survived decades of battles, Scenes of bloodshed, Held the weapons of a warrior, Many fights she’d led, But there was once a time, That there were no quarrels, Not we’re there crimes, However, that time is long gone, And since then, how to love, She has forgotten.