Fade Into You

I could still smell her coconut shampoo on my pillow. It was faint, but I grasped onto it, pressing my face into the cotton and letting the scent nestle into my nose.

I don’t think I can hear your voice anymore.

I inhaled and held the breath in my mouth. I could taste her. I closed my eyes, so I could try to imagine her. The way the light bounced olive off of her skin, the freckle right above her lip, the way she squinted her honey eyes when the sun filled the sky, how her lips would go flat when she forgot how to smile.

I don’t want to see your face.

But no matter how much of the little things I could remember, I couldn’t conjure up the entire picture. Parts of her were missing, stored in dusty parcels somewhere inside of me. Parts of me I couldn’t access until I saw her in front of me.

It had been three weeks. Three agonizingly long weeks. Three weeks without the sound of her voice or the brush of her hand against my arm as we walked side by side on the pier. Three unbearable weeks where I couldn't so much as call her. I’d gone from seeing her everyday to seeing her never.

It’s no good for you to try and get in contact with me.

I hadn’t done anything since she’d kicked me out of her life except for sit around in my underwear all day, sleeping and reading. My mother tells me I am becoming lethargic.

Goodbye, Rush.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I wanted to grab that ratty old cardigan she wouldn’t throw away and kiss her before the sun set, before it felt like the day was ending. But as the sun fell golden against the darkening waves, I watched her walk, dark hair blowing in the wind. I watched her leave me behind, her frail body working to fight against the wind and get herself away from there, away from me. I’d mumbled, “I love you, Olivia.” the wind chapping my pale pink lips and violently whipping my hair against my face.

It must have been something in the way she smiled that drew me to her, because she was never perfect. There was always something off about her. Her walk was funny and she’d had trouble breathing. I’d watch her take laboured breaths as we walked like astronauts, pioneering our way to the ocean. We’d jump inside with all of our clothes on and she’d laugh forever as the waves smacked against her ribcage. She'd laugh and stare at everything solemnly. That was right before she'd forget how to smile and I’d have to whisper, “remember the pretty things.”

She'd never been mine. Rush didn't belong to anyone. I had tried too hard to be her gatekeeper, and now I was here, clinging to her remains. Her scent, her taste, and everything but my pictures of her were fading. Soon, all I would have were pathetic attempts of capturing her. All I would have was a 2-D copy, flimsy in my hands. And I'd never have the touch of her skin back. I'd just be stuck to my bedsheets, drawn her long after her remains had disappeared by the idea that she'd dwelled here. I'd just keep chocking on the same idea that she wasn't dead, so she couldn't be gone forever. I would just keep fucking chocking, and soon I would run out of air.