Thousand

You miss her like dead flowers in the spring.

You miss her in sequence. Her scent, like blooming lilacs and soft satin. Her eyes- large and wide- holding the world and you simultaneously up, more strength than Atlas, more hearth than Hestia.

You remember her as a god. Fleeting, performing enough little miracles in your history you're allowed to profess, allowed to worship like she's everything you ever need to believe in-

She's a god the way she's robbed from reality, the way you're only allowed to know her as belief.

You remember touches, ingrained, soft and pliant it mirrors every fiber of her being. Hesitant, fawn-like, the echoes of her fingers gracing your skin, the pads of her thumbs tracing your lips after a gentle kiss. That's the way you miss her, both red and grey, missing her way. Part of you. Your hands can shoot up to the silhouette of her waist because you still remember that discordant waltz.

You remember kissing her good morning. You remember burnt toast on Sunday. You remember kissing her good night. You remember her hand clasped steadily over your erratic heart. You remember kissing her goodbye. You wishing her everything and everything, that every day happiness finds her when she least expects it, that peace is in her mind and soul.

As your feet treads through lilies and carnations, the morning dew kisses your shoes, softening the leather with moisture like frigid tears. You hear by the pier, by the water, gentle giggles and hushed whispers, your bare feet kicking against the water, her shoulder pressed to yours. It's the same cold. Then was dusk. Now is dawn, and the fields are white, alive.

Everything is at attention. You straighten the hem of your suit absentmindedly.

You wonder if you're late. If you've always been. Late to realising, to the game of time and it's little tricks. That in every moment where you feel grateful for all you have been given, simultaneously, there's yearning. The kind that threatens to let greed win.

You miss her in the way you used to say-

You’re cute

Well you're cuter.

You're cuterer.

Then you're the cutest.

And that was that.

It takes you a moment, walking down the concrete path with imprints made by your own feet, the way the only thing has changed is age, like you fast forwarded to a time where the only one that even remembers what the houses by the road used to be is you. It takes you a moment to realise the two of you are finally alone.

Now that you're the only one that remembers, it should feel different. Like all the details are heavier, the shining blades of grass and crushed snails. Like every little thing is more than important. But the truth is nothing's really changed. Because you haven't moved on. Because you can't.

But you're here now.

You kneel like your knees are showing their age, resting your hand on the crumbling corner of grey rock in front of you in a way that any self-respecting person would frown upon- but you know that she wouldn't mind. And she's there too, like she always is, by your side. And behind you can faintly hear the haunting sigh of a swinging swing without a rider.

"Hi," you start, then clear your throat. It feels like you have phlegm stuck in there.

"Hello."

And, struggling to even find a way to start, "Hello again. It's me."

"How are you?"

"I've been thinking about you… but you already know that."

"I haven't forgotten you for a moment, I swear." You almost laugh, like forgetting is absurd. It is. "You know, on the way here, the sun seemed so bright. Everything so clear and pretty, the air nice and cool. For once the way people used to describe how birds would sing was actually true. You would have seen it."

You remember the trip here. The walk. The too sweet pancakes you once used to love sharing, that are now so bitter it's tar like the black streaks down your haunted cheeks.

"It's crazy, you know? Getting here, my feet seemed so light. And I know you've been waiting so long for me to see you again, so I should just cut to the chase."

You remember heat. Heat that's more than lust, that every moment she pressed her fingers into you it was built on trust and more than that. That in every moment the two of you promised each other it was the beginning of a better one.

"I've been fine. All this time. Really. I've been eating," You reassure, scratching your nails into the flesh of your palm like you need to get the red out. "I've been travelling too. So much. Amsterdam. Vegas. You should have seen Paris at night. I was on a ferry… and every moment I wanted to take a picture with you. The tower lights up, you know? Like a beacon."

Your eyes fall to her, to the green, the grey and brown. You dust away just a little.

"To be honest. I don't even know why I keep saying so much. I know the last thing you'd want me is for me to be here again."

"I can't, you know? Forget. Move on. I know I'm going against everything you wanted for me. I know you're dead and gone… but not to me."

"You're still me. Every part. And I know we used to laugh and joke about how we'd never grow apart. But that became true. And I miss you. Every second. You're in my head. Without a voice. But still there. You hurt so much I think I still love you."

"I don't want to grow away. You mean more than that to me. I can't go. So I won't. Let me be forever broken. I will kneel here forever."

You miss her like a wilted flower in plentiful spring.

You miss her in a thousand words.