Living Backwards Doesn't Make For Happy Endings

I slip into her bed. She is gone, and grief and loneliness have taken her place. I clutch hopelessly at the bedsheets, press my face into the pillow, and sob helplessly.

The sun streams in, chasing the shadows from the room, but I close my eyes and plunge into darkness. If I close my eyes, it's easier to pretend she never existed.

I will never see her smile again.

***

She was cold. Grey. Her lips were pale and dry, and her breath escaped her in hollow gasps. The steady beeping of the ECG filled the room with a sense of fear. I wished I could have unplugged it, but I couldn't move.

Shadows had settled under her eyes, and her cheekbones crested sharply on her face. I looked down with sudden clarity. This is one of the last times I will ever see her. With that realization comes nothing: I could not think of anything to say, and no line of poetry would ever be able to describe the feelings that coursed through my body. I had always thought I could protect her. I couldn't, not when it truly mattered.

I leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. Although she was asleep, her lips turned up into a smile.

***

I slipped into bed next to her, slowly and quietly, but she was already awake. I brushed my hand against her face, and her eyes closed like on the night I met her. Like that night, tears flowed freely from the corners of her eyes, tracing the shape of her jaw and spotting the pillow below.

"I'm worried about you," I whispered. Her face turned towards mine and she grabbed my shirt, pulling me close. "I don't know what to do."

"I love you," she said, simply. Her hands reached around the back of my head and she raised her face to mine. "Please don't forget me."

"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, lightly. She didn't reply, but her body tensed. "Where are you going?"

She didn't reply, and for the longest time I thought she was asleep. But then I looked down, and her eyes were open, drawing me in with that same power as all those months ago. They were wet with tears and as I raised my hand to wipe them away, she turned, pressing against the cold bed frame.

The corner of her mouth curves upwards, but her eyes remain closed.

***

We sat in my mother's car, listening to the rain stream down from the gray and thunderous sky. We were huddled together in the back seat, her head and face pressed into the side of my neck. I pulled the blanket over her bare shoulder as the rain pattered loudly on the windshield.

There are no words to describe the past few months. It's impossible to record every moment, and it's impossible to try. But I know I'll never forget. The way her body fits into my arms, the perfect interlocking of our fingers, her heartbeat pressed into my chest, and of course, the careful way she smiles.

Her hand found mine under the blanket. I couldn't see her face but I could feel her smile against my skin.

***

We went for coffee in a small bistro downtown, a quiet place, tucked away where few people would notice. The sun was high in the sky, and the birds called out in twitters and chirps that filled the air with music. Both her hands were wrapped around a cappuccino. The steam from the thin paper cup twisted around her hair as she leaned forward.

"I think," she whispered, "We are becoming more than strangers."

It was such an odd, but true, thing to say that I was silent, aware that somewhere in the conversation we had just slipped into friendship without realization. This time, I reached my hand out and touched her wrist, her hands still wrapped tightly around the cup.

She placed her fingertips on mine and smiled.

***

When I ran into her on the street, I didn't recognize her at first. Her eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue and green. She was dressed for the weather, standing tall in a bus stop by the side of a busy intersection. She spotted me before I even saw her, so when I turned around, her eyes were already piercing mine.

"Hi," she said quietly. She grabbed my wrist like she did that other night, and with her other hand, pressed a small, folded square of paper into my palm. She told me to open it when I got home. She never broke eye contact as she spoke, and I couldn't look away. An invisible thread kept me hypnotized, unable to break the stare, but it wasn't awkward; on the contrary, her eyes were comfortable, and her fingers lingered on the back of my hand for slightly longer than necessary.

A bus passed by, breaking the spell. I looked up. "Wasn't that your bus?"

She smiled again, like she did on that night. "I can always catch the next one."

***

I met her at a friend's party, I can't remember whose. She was sitting at the end of a couch, her knees tucked to her chin, her eyes closed, her hands wrapped tightly around her shins. I didn't know whether she was tired, thoughtful, or drunk. Her shoulder blades poked out the back of her thin shirt like pointed wings.

I leaned over and put my hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" I asked. She didn't open her eyes, but she tilted her head towards me.

"I'm okay," she said simply. I waited, but she didn't offer any further information. I stood up to go, but as I turned away, her hand suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Can - can you just sit here?" she whispered, tears suddenly leaking from her scrunched-up eyes.

"I don't know who you are," I said honestly. But I sat back down.

She smiled through her tears. "I don't know me either. But maybe you could help."

Things I Never Told You

I never knew what to say. I could never find the right words to describe what I felt.

Now that you're gone, I've had time to expand my vocabulary.

Synesthesia. A condition where an unexpected sensory input occurs.

I never told you that your voice was like a rainbow after a summer rain.
I never told you that the sun in your eyes held the whisper of the ocean depths.
I never told you that the taste of your lips reminded me of the sound of my heartbeat.
I never told you that your body was like a warm bed on a winter's night.

I never told you, that Even when you're gone, my arms remember the smoothness of your back, and my lips the taste of yours.
I never told you, that I wanted to sleep next to you until the sun peeked in through the curtains.
I never told you, that My bedsheets keep the smell of your body like the Earth keeps the smell of a spring day.
I never told you, that When I had nightmares, I would imagine your hand on mine until I fell asleep.
I never told you, that In the right light, the sun would leave rainbows in your eyes.
I never told you, that Your body on mine is like where the sky meets the ocean, and you can't tell where the horizon lies.
I never told you, that Every time you left me, I was scared you would never come back.