Vampires

We bought this apartment two years ago. It was right after you graduated from the college. You were my boyfriend and we decided to spend the rest of our lives together despite of what we knew everyone would be saying. But the comments stayed unspoken because nobody knew about us. We kept our love secret. We were the quietest little miracle shining inside a curled up leaf somewhere in the depth of the jungle. Our world was small, but we had all we needed.

We decorated the place with what would later become our favorite details of the universe. We brought ourselves in here to surround the other with the things we liked. You liked Kafka, so we filled the bookshelves with his books. I liked kitsch fashion curtains and Africa, so our place had short, white curtains with big elephants and colorful blobs on them. They were casting pieces of broken rainbow all over the place with every sunrise. We kept our windows and doors open most of the time, because we both liked when there was a lot of light to veil our naked bodies with. The bedroom had intimate and fresh green tea look. Green tea was our drink; you taught me about the benefits it had for our bodies and souls, so we drank it every day. The taste had always reminded me of you. I’d drown in a cup of this ambrosia with you.

We lived here together for months. The time you spent home was the most precious part of my life to me. You were a chemist and often worked in a laboratory away from home. I never understood those things well, and you liked to use it against me and joke in chemistry terms. I was just a poorly educated librarian’s assistant; the only advantage of it was that I met you in my job. I couldn’t repay your antics with similarly witty remarks; I had to reduce to nudges, chuckles and if those didn’t stop you, then my kisses did. We were the happiest, and I’m definitely not crazy saying this. We were the happiest.

I don’t understand where you are now. You just aren’t coming back. I’ve been waiting for you for hours, maybe days. I don’t count it anymore; I’ve got too lost in numbers. In the cobwebs spiders made in the corners of this white place, your favorite smiles of mine are shining ready to welcome you when you come back to me. I am not able to wear them anymore; all I can wear is worry, fear. I put my smiles in those webs so that I can take them on when you open the door. I’ll look at you the way you love it. Something has gone terribly wrong with our apartment. I spend days wondering what it is so that we can put it back in order when you return.

It got smaller and emptier. It got white; I don’t remember when I painted it white. It lost all pictures and all color; it’s pale like a vampire. You used to hate vampires and all art about them; and now I’m meeting those moth-eaten things in my nightmares every single night. Could it be you sent them to me? Sometimes I go to the window to have a look at the street. I want to see if you’re not coming home yet. But there is the confusing iron holding me back. After a fight with it, I often find myself dressed in a straitjacket. I think my mind is playing tricks with me. Something is going wrong with it. You are the only thing that keeps my thoughts from getting lost for good.

What scares me a lot are the phantoms which promenade around our apartment. I see them whenever I get to the window, the only place where I long to be. Behind the ceiling you put here to keep me waiting patiently, there are ghosts walking here and there, lifeless and emotionless. They are walking, saying nothing. They never look at me, it’s as if they didn’t see me – it’s as if I wasn’t real. Sometimes they turn to me and I see they are faceless. Those moments make me cringe in dread and I ask myself what I’ve done to have this happening to me. I close my eyes, go down by the wall and hold my head in place to not lose it. I mustn’t lose it for you loved the way it worked, the way it pressed to yours when we slept in bed snuggled to each other.

I started to write a diary some time ago. A doctor who drops in sometimes to ask about you gave this advice to me. Write a diary to pass the time of waiting. So that’s what I started to do. I’m not good with writing so I was just drawing my entries. I think that in that way I could express better how much I missed you. I drew our favorite scenes from our favorite movies. I guess I was not good with pencil either because the doctor didn’t get my drawings at all. I drew our first kiss. The first time we had sex. The first time you made love to me. But the man in long white coat saw just grim places with vampires in them. He mistook your lips for a puddle of blood. He considered it interesting that the people in the pictures were trying to stab their hearts with blunt sticks. It was a misinterpretation but I didn’t try to explain the real meaning to him. Everyone has his right for own interpretation, the librarian I used to work for used to tell me.

When the diary got filled, the doctor brought me a new one. It was nice of him to visit me every day. He as if knew how much I miss you and he tried to be there for me. He was making the waiting somewhat easier by letting me talk about you over and over. One time he said he could see how much I was looking forward to seeing you again. He said he could see it in my eyes whenever he entered our apartment and I realized he’s not you. But he wasn’t able to explain where you were. All I ever begged him for was to help me find you. He didn’t.

He said you were dead. Then he said you were not real. He couldn’t even decide which one of those was his truth. I threw the diary at him. I’ve never believed his words anymore. I’m not talking to him when he comes by now. I play mute. I think I’ve already forgotten how to speak. I’m a little worried about whether I’ll be able to use my vocal cords when you come back. The doctor is the only thing I’m sure about now, though. Everything else is like sand that tries to swallow me. I’m scared. I wish you were back already. I want our time to be the way it used to be before you disappeared. I feel very insecure. Every day I fear you won’t be able to recognize the man you knew and loved in me anymore. I’m not sure if he is still to be seen. I can’t feel him much.

I haven’t seen a mirror for a surprisingly long time. I don’t know the exact number of days or weeks, I just know I forgot how I look like. I feel I’m slowly turning into a shadow of all the colorful lights the glass balls used to throw around our place. I might be turning into something similar to those faceless ghosts in the streets. I don’t want to become one… Sometimes I pray to not become one. I really need you to come back and it’s getting urgent, please, hurry up if you can hear me. I can’t recall the features of my face anymore. I don’t remember the color of my eyes and I have no one to ask about it. I don’t trust the doctor with it.

When I don’t wake up to find myself in the straitjacket, I touch my body to remind me of us. I remember the ways of your fingers over my skin. Even when my body doesn’t react, in my heart I still shiver the same when I touch my thighs. You knew every detail of me by your heart. I didn’t need to remember me anymore. You kept the knowledge safe. And I did the same to you. You are inside me; you are in the nerve ends in the balls of my fingers. You are written in my tissue.

So whenever I lie down on the floor and close my eyes, and I reach out to caress you, you’re there. I have you saved in my head; every detail of you is touchable while my heart is beating. I look at you and watch you as you are lying next to me with your eyes closed. You are wearing my clothes; you are so familiar I feel like crying. Our chests are rising and falling in sync with each other’s, and we are filling with peace as glittery as our first Christmas tree. You are beautiful. I want to touch you more. I want you to touch me, but I don’t dare to disturb your sleep. We both are happy now, and I’m waiting for you to wake up. It’s not going to last long and we’ll be able to whisper “I love you” to each other again.

But when I close my eyes to get a little rest near the warmth of your sleeping body, suddenly I realize I’ve never opened them. I do so quickly, and you’re gone. The image of you… what was it?

If it all happens inside my head, then I need to keep it in place even stronger, and I have to fight for it. Because I fear that if I lost my mind, I would lose you too.