Tag: love

Traces

Everywhere I have my eyes wander, I see you. Well, not you in full corporeality. That’d be strange and it’d hold implications to how powerful you really are. I guess it’s more that you’ve left little pieces of yourself all around. Again, not literally; your body’s all intact. I made sure of that.

I notice you when I’m in my garden. Flowers are the only things I care about. Colours, aromas, life – they provide everything I need. I need to stay grounded, reminded of here. Your name is a flower. You said you loved the pink ones the most. You asked me what they were called, and I didn’t know. Neither does the flower. I don’t want to give it a name it won’t like. I was given a name I don’t like. You touched the flower and it left some of itself on you. You left some of yourself, too. I don’t go to my garden anymore.

I notice you when I’m at my beach. I had grown up there. I spent whole seasons throwing pebbles into the water. I was afraid of water, of what it might do to me. I still am. Drowning isn’t like in the movies. It’s a peaceful, solemn process, without resistance. I’d hate to have died like that. You and I met here. I was surprised you could see me, weren’t afraid of me. I showed you all the places I could remember where I once stood. We threw pebbles at the sea together. We left in the evening; you left footprints where you trod. I didn’t. The tides washed away those marks of you, but I know they were there once. They still are, in a way. I don’t go to my beach anymore.

I notice you when I’m in my home. I don’t know how long I’ve been here for, or how long you’ve been here for. You asked me about my birthday once. I think I’ve had 32, but I stopped counting after that. You said you were spending your birthday with me. I liked that. We sat near a tombstone engraved with a name I don’t like, and you ate the cakes you’d brought. I don’t eat. A breeze did wonders to how your hair looked for a short while. You left your basket here, and that was the last time you left a trace. I don’t go to my home anymore; it is our home now.

I still take care of you. Every day, I pick pink flowers from our garden and gather pebbles from our beach. I place them in our home, arranged in patterns we like. Your grave looks the nicest, I made sure of that. Everywhere I have my eyes wander, I see traces, reminding me that all of you is right here.

This is our house

This is our house. Pleasant piano music plays in the background. We don’t know where it’s coming from, but we don’t care. We are in love. We dance to piano music every night. You always lead our dance.

It’s not a big house, but we don’t have many belongings, anyway. We sold most of them to move in here. You even had to sell the statuette you loved so much – you know, the one your mother gave you? Right before she passed away? It was of a beautiful human, made entirely out of jade. Its expression was very stoic and cold, but that’s to be expected of a statue. Kind of reminds me of you, actually. I don’t mean that. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Five days have passed since I made that terrible remark, and you haven’t spoken to me since then. I think you’ve forgiven me, though. I mean, we still dance every night, and you lead everytime.

Sometimes I miss my old alembic. I had to sell my valuables, too, you know. There’s this space on my desk where it used to fit so perfectly, its perfect glass painted with the reflection of my research. I complain about it every day, but you never respond. I miss your voice.

Not that I care much; I still get to use this desk. You built it for me for my birthday. Besides, I filled up the space with my diaries. Every day I write about you. I love writing about you. More text about you means there’s more of you. I love you.

I work from this nice desk most of the day. When I feel overworked, I look behind me and see your moveless self. The bed sheets hide most of your body, but they accentuate your uncovered arm and face. Your hair has such a nice glow to it. Your skin may have become gray and dry, but you’re still perfect to me.

I put a window above your bed. I felt you weren’t getting enough sunlight; you stay in bed all day. You only get out when night has fallen, because that’s when we dance; that’s when you lead, and I follow. I keep telling you to be more active, but you don’t respond. You never respond. We just dance. You don’t talk a lot. You don’t talk at all. I love you.

But I’m getting distracted. I have to focus on my research. I’ve lost track of the amount of time I’ve spent working, the amount of animals I’ve dissected, the amount of loaves of bread I’ve eaten. You don’t cook for me, and I don’t know how to cook. Bread is all I eat, but I’ll manage.  I don’t care about my own body. I only care about yours. That’s the reason why I’m doing this, that’s the reason I’m doing all this research, instead of dancing with you. Don’t worry, we’ll dance when it’s nighttime. We’ll dance all night, and you lead. You always lead. I will follow.

It’s been another two weeks since my last diary entry. I feel tired, ill, and scared. Your dancing is getting sloppy. I can tell you’re having trouble leading me. Are you sick? Don’t you love me anymore?  No, of course you love me. You have to love me.

My research is making progress! Instead of experimenting on animals, I’ve started experimenting on myself, and the results were amazing! I lost my arm, though. My favourite arm, my right one. I used to stroke your face with it. I hacked it off – it hurt a lot, but not enough to stop doing it -, and I managed to give it a life of its own. It tried to strangle me. That’s understandable, that’s okay. I ate it afterwards. I’m so hungry.

But this is good news! When my research is complete, you’ll be able to get out of bed by yourself. Maybe you’ll even stop decaying! Then we can dance ALL day! I lied when you said you always led our dances. I’m sorry. I’m the one who leads. You can’t.

This is our house. Pleasant piano music plays in the background. It used to be your favourite song. I play it for you all day. I miss you. We are in love. I miss you.

I love you.