Letting Go

I sit on the couch with the book you left for me.

I can only stare at it at the moment, although I’ve read through it many times.

I don’t even look up when someone barges through my unlocked door.

I instinctively hide the book between the sofa cushions as Gabe enters the living room.

I look at him.

I don’t greet him; just wait for him to say something so I can see what he wants.

“Let’s go,” he says. “You need to get out of here.”

“No,” I reply dully, not even bothering to ask where he wants to take me.

“Seriously. You can’t sit here another day. You haven’t left this apartment in over a week, at least.”

I don’t answer; I continue to stare ahead as if he’s not there.

“She wouldn’t want you to be like this, Alex,” he says, trying a softer approach. “M-”

“Don’t,” I cut him off sharply. “Don’t say…h-her name.”

I don't want him to say your name.

“Alex-” he starts again. “She-”

“You don’t know. How would you know what she wanted?” I snap angrily.

Only I know what you wanted, because you told me.

He doesn’t reply, just stares in minor but silent surprise.

I don’t blame him.

He’s never had to deal with me like this before.

I’m surprised he’s managed to be as patient with me as he’s been so far.

I push your diary back further into the cushions.

I don’t want him to see it.

He’d only try harder to get me out of here.

Besides, I’m the only one that’s supposed to read your words.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost her, you know,” he finally states, and his eyes reflect my own sadness and defeat back at me.

“That’s how it feels,” I reply simply.

He says nothing, and I look away.

I wait for him to leave.

When he finally does, I pull out your book again.

Not so I can read it; I almost have it memorized by now.

I just like to think you’re still with me, in a way.

I miss you.