Seven Year Itch

You see, then? I was no dreamer you awoke from sleep. All my dreams are gone now; they deserted me long before this land was a land of dreaming. Those dreams left with you, with all the scans and radiations and tests they did on you; with the unromantic beeping of the IV machine beside you, with your fading heart, so quiet I could hardly feel it beating, no matter how hard I listened.

I miss you so much that I think my heart is fading, too. I don’t have the strength anymore. You gave me a shot of love and courage every morning with my coffee. Now--
I have nothing.

It was seven years ago when they told me. Wide awake, staring at the ceiling and squinting back tears. My hands were shaking. They rang the doorbell, and it was 3 o’clock in the morning and all I could think about was that I never told you goodbye. The sound still rings in my ears.

I loved you, but without conviction. Don't blame me with your unexpressive eyes-- how could I have known that you would leave me so fast?

I knew you were holding on, but nothing came of it, and I forgot to kiss you before it was too late. It's hard for me not to cry, though I do hold it back… But I’ve been waiting seven years for love and never found anything the same.

You don't really understand what has happened to me, although it is unreasonable to shake my fist at your coffin like this. But you must know, from somewhere, that there is a hollow spot inside of me, echoing with the laughter and running-through-the-daffodils memories of so many years; when we sat in your apartment for that first kiss.

It was the first I'd ever had. The last I’ll ever have, because you passed so quickly from my life and never gave me the chance to savor you.

And you're gone now, and slowly my memories of you are fading. I have almost forgotten the particular color of your eyes, the way they glinted in the sun and against the tears. It's getting hard to remember that special glow in your beautiful bronze skin, the charismatic head-tilt that made you so amazing. It seems to me that I can’t ever get your picture out of my head—though it is fading into nothing but a memory—

because you are so close to me still.

Now I'm paranoid, scared to death of love. Scared of loving, because of your death; it was so long and torturous, and yet it came too quickly, and slammed me in the heart. I sat by your bedside and watched you melt into a parody of herself, as the cruel months marched by. It was so hard.

I can't go through that again, so helpless and so afraid. I gripped your hand so tightly, and still you slipped away. I lie awake every night, praying for a world without pain. But that world does not exist.

I'm sorry, my dearest. I know it's selfish to be this way, when you're the one that's gone. I wanted so much to take your pain away, add it on to the weight that I, like Atlas, am destined to carry until the world ends.

Please, don't cry. Your tears burn holes in my heart.

Long after the door has slammed behind you, and the bookshelves are dusty and empty, I lie staring at the ceiling. Here I lie, and dream without dreaming in this desolate place—of things that are long gone, and things that will never be.