I'm thinking about you.
If I put one foot in front of the other and just walk then I can forget.
If I go outside and pick up the ball from where it always lies in the empty plant pot and I throw it. If I push my hand forward through the air, if I release the ball, if I watch it crash into the brick wall, if I reach out to grasp it as it hurtles back to me. Then I can put the memories aside. I can forget. It's easier in those moments. But when I can't. When I can't go out, when I can't put my mind somewhere else. Then it isn't so easy. Like now.
I'm thinking about you again.
The sky is so beautiful right now. Let me describe it to you.
Like that one night. You remember. We walked down to the village and sat by the river and watched the cars cross the bridge, passing by our tiny home without a second glance. And then before we knew it we had to hold each other for warmth and the sky had darkened and you looked up and you tilted my chin from where I was resting on your shoulder. You made me look. And it was beautiful. Everything you get me to do is worthwhile, just like then.
So many colours. I opened my mouth to taste them all on my tongue and you smiled and did the same. Clouds stretched and shaped as though it was cotton wool deformed by a child's playful hands. You pointed at all the glinting stars as if I wouldn't be able to find them without your guiding hand and I played along.
I wish we had spent more nights together, alone below the shifting sky watching the clouds move in slow motion as I do now.
I'm walking up the lane. I'm coming home to you.
There are these branches that catch on my clothes when I walk past. Every night when I come home, they are always waiting to viciously claw at my face and hair. Nearly taking out my eyes. Always in the same place too. You know that turning by the lamp post, with the dip in the road. No one has trimmed the hedges around here for years. I must look a mess when I return home to you. Soggy from the rain and messed about by the wind.
There are puddles too tonight. It was raining when I left this morning, soaking me before I even got to the main street. You must have seen how the once delightfully crunchy brown leaves drown in the murky water until only mush remains.
As I walk, I run my hands over ridged fences, daring to sniff the damp wood smell that makes me think of home. My fingers trail over tops of walls dancing in pools of rainwater gathered there. Icy hands collect delicate droplets of rain from the metal railings, always lifting the beads of water to watch them shake from my skin and fall to the ground.
Once they've fallen, they seem to dissolve, to dissipate into the ground. These raindrops don't splash and rebound, bouncing off the earth. They simply sink in, replenishing earth that hasn't drunk for months. Or is it weeks. No. It rained the day before yesterday. Sophie came to see me. She was standing on the doorstep, dripping wet and I asked her why. She looked at me funny. Everyone has been looking at me funny recently.
I haven't stopped. You're still here. In my mind.
I was thinking about the day we first met earlier. I won't tell you. I know you remember as well as I do. It isn't easy to forget. Not nearly as easy as it should be. Lots of things are like that.
It's your fault really. All of it.
It's like when you took me up that mountain. It was all well and good and I didn't think I could have had more fun, until it came to getting back down. You thought we'd go a different way. Bit of variety, you said. We ended up scrambling, or falling, in my case, down that scree slope. I thought you'd bring the mountain down with us, the way you were leaping around like a wildcat. I was so mad at you. But I thought I might forgive you if you would take me home and let me use the shower first and then come to bed with me and kiss all my bruises better. Instead you tripped over, cracked your head and I had to take you home and check for concussion. Why did it have to happen like that?
I'm thinking about you. Again and again and again. You never let me rest.
You might call all this moping. You'd probably be right.
I've been thinking about you too much, I know. I've been wishing you were here. I've been avoiding people. I've been trying to bring you back. I've given up on going outside. I've stopped getting out of bed. But it's not working. I can't do anything for you anymore. It's pointless trying to help you. It never works. It will never help.
But I can't stop.
Your favourite time of day. You always forced me out of bed just before dawn broke and I never stopped hating you for it. You thought it was the most beautiful sight on earth. I thought you were the most beautiful sight on earth.
It's almost dawn now. I'll give you the satisfaction for once. I'll get out of bed and open the curtains and agree with you. Yes, it is beautiful. I'll make your favourite time of day my favourite time of day. I'll do it for you. I'll do anything for you.
Claire told me that the priest told her that you'd been speaking to God about me.
Claire told me you wouldn't like me sitting in bed all day. I've stopped closing the curtains. I pulled the bed over so that I can stare out the window all day and night. I spend the time waiting. Waiting for dawn to break. Because when it does I know that you are around. It's as though you are standing beside me again telling me how beautiful the sky looks, telling me how amazing the light is, telling me how wonderful the view is and how you wish you could be high up above it all, watching the earth forever. But you never tell me how beautiful I look in the morning sunlight.
I told all this to Claire.
Claire told me you think I'm beautiful. She says that I am the sunlight in your eyes. She says that I can't keep myself shut away in the house because no one can see my light like this. She says she will take me out tomorrow.
Are you happy now?
Claire took me out. Sophie waved and Harry patted my back and Jess hugged me. They couldn't stop smiling. The priest came out of the church to grin at me. I would rather see your smile. I remember that was one of the first things I noticed about you. If you hadn't smiled at me that first day, I wouldn't have remembered you, I wouldn't have recognised you when I saw you again, I wouldn't have kept wishing to see you again, I wouldn't have spent all our dates trying to be funny, trying to make you smile, I wouldn't have wanted to remain with you always just so I would always be able to see that smile. Did you know that?
Now that smile is only in my mind.
I've seen and talked to people today. I've smiled.
I went to the graveyard too. I know it took me a long time. But I finally made it to the grave. Claire gave me some privacy and went to stand a little way off. I sat on the ground in front of the tombstone and I stared at the engraved words. Meaningless words.
I want you to know that I won't forgive you. This isn't some mistake that can be fixed and forgiven and forgotten. There is no fixing this. And you're crazy if you want me to forget. I told Claire that I can't forget you, I can't move on. She says that I can move on even if I remember you. Even if I think about you every day. She says I can get past this. I'm not sure I know what that even means. But I want to try. I don't know who I would be doing it for. Claire. Myself. You. But it's worth it. Claire says you would want me to move on with my life, keep going and I am willing to believe her. Everything you ever told me to do was worthwhile so if you tell me to do this. I will.
You're not leaving me. I know because I can still feel you. You're right beside me. You never really left me. I don't need to try to forget everything that happened because I accept it. Nothing needs to change.
I put flowers on your grave last night.
A/N: I don't know where this came from really and I KNOW there's a lack of plot/character development or whatever. And the title's crap. It's just a weird story that I felt like writing. I'm hoping it will get me back on track for writing more good stories soon :)
The song I was listening to while writing: Wild World (sung by Sid at the end of Skins s.1)