You Are Just a Blur

The dreams were always the same.

Gianna floating above him, touching the stars one by one with her fingertips as she danced through the dark night sky. Each one would light up after her touch, and burn out after she passed on to the next one. David knew just how they felt, watching from below in his bed. He knew what it was like to be lit from within by such a beautiful being, such a wonderful person as Gianna. And he also knew what it was like to be snuffed out by her, pushed back into the dark with such a strength that it made his bones ache. That's how he felt every night, whenever the dreams came to him. He'd go to bed, eager to see her face one more time, and when he'd awaken, he'd feel more crushed and lonely than before. Always the same, never any different.

And then he'd wake up.

The bed beside him would still be empty, and Gianna would still be long gone. A fresh wave of tears would roll over him, and David would be left to remember once more that the girl he loved wasn't around. He'd never smell her hair again, he'd never hold her close again, he'd never kiss her cheeks again. She'd never say his name or have another fit. It was almost always too much to handle, especially when just waking up and the sun not even being out yet, but David handled it. He always did.

The next step was always getting out of bed.

With his bones and heart aching so badly, it wasn't an easy task to coax his body from the sheets. It took no less than fifteen minutes, usually more than that, before his feet even touched the cold, hardwood floor below. Then another five until he could stand, and then he'd be at the window, face pressed against the glass while he stared helplessly at the sky and the endless stretch of bay below it, praying to find her silhouette on the shore somewhere.

He and Gianna hadn't lived by the water when they were together--when she was still with him. They'd lived in the city, closer to the best hospitals and doctors so that she could be treated whenever necessary. She hadn't liked this, often pleading with David to buy a house near the bay. Her doctors had even suggested it, claiming that the water might be able to calm some of her fits. But David refused--he rented a house for them, but would not move completely. The bay was two hours away, far too great a distance if Gianna's life was on the line. And so, the two remained in the city for most of the year, Gianna's fits slowly getting worse.

But now that she was gone, David had moved out to their beach house. The water soothed him--it made the dreams and the grief more bearable. Sometimes, it was almost if Gianna was out there, flying above the bay each night while she watched over him.

And so, every morning, David would walk to the window to check, to see if she was really out there. She never was.

That tiny shred of hope--the one that always kept looking for her--would then be crushed, smashed to pieces until nothing was left. He'd trudge downstairs and make a pot of tasteless coffee, then sit at the kitchen table, watching the water gently lap at the beach through the back door. Then the pot would go cold and he'd pour it down the sink, starting another that he'd promise not to let go to waste. It always did though; coffee was no match for the memories that swirled around in his head while he stared out at the sand. He'd pour that pot down the drain too, muttering various curses and abandoning everything else altogether besides watching the sky and the bay.

And then the day would go on, dragging at an increasingly slow pace until the moon exchanged places with the sun and David was free to join his Gianna once more.