Status: ONE SHOT.

We Love Until We Die

n e v e r f o r g e t

Do you remember how we used to be? Do you remember the nights we spent alone and in love, hugging and tasting each others’ skin? Do you remember, or have you forgotten already? Actually, don’t tell me, because I doubt I could bare having you forget. I couldn’t bare knowing you don’t remember the love we shared; the love that blossomed in our stomachs and broke through our eyes. I couldn’t bare you forgetting the kisses we shared like greetings and love we made in your parents bedroom. I couldn’t bare you forgetting me, because in the end I’ll never forget you. You are my sunshine, the jokes that make me laugh and the music that makes me dance. I’ll never forget the singing competitions we had just for fun, and how you always beat me. You always had a wonderful voice, John, and when you told me you created a band I couldn’t be happier. I knew by intuition and knowledge of your persistence that your band would make it. Your friends and yourself made up The Maine, and after a few prosperous years I was excited to see you living your dream. You used that melodic, rough voice of yours to say the things you rarely voiced and you were making money because of it.

I was so proud to see you smile while talking about your band. I was proud to see you grow into a musician and still stay grounded. And I thought you were content; thought you had everything you wanted and wasn’t about to change it. Wasn’t about to fuck it all up. And I’m sorry to say that, John, but it’s true. You ruined something great, but I don’t blame you. I don’t think anyone does even though they should.

I remember so vividly that cold November afternoon. The wind was whipping at our front door and the sky was a deep shade of blue. You walked through the door, pulling your leather jacket closer and tossing off your shoes. You tossed your keys onto the adjacent table and strutted over to me. I remember seeing something in your usually carefree eyes - something I couldn’t quite put a pinpoint on but wished I had. You pulled me into an urgent hug and kissed my lips with your chapped ones. You blew cold air into my face which made me giggle.

Do you remember my laugh, which always made you laugh in turn? You used to say it was your personal soundtrack - like a song that the universe created just for yourself. You always tried to make me laugh, whether it be by immaturity or the way you held yourself.

You pulled my hair back behind my shoulders and told me quietly you had something to tell me. I nodded, despite the worry that churned in my stomach, and followed you to our worn couch. You sat, pulled me into your bony lap, and rested your head against my shoulder. I breathed heavily while waiting for you to say something - anything. But after a few minutes filled with utter silence I told you to tell me already before I was going to explode. You laughed, hardened and tensed, then gripped my hand tightly; too tightly.

“I joined the navy, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

My life came crashing down and everything I worked for was destroyed with just those seven words. I cried hot tears and you told me it was okay and that’d we still be together. You tapped my heart and whispered, “I’ll always be in here.” And then we made sweet love on our four poster bed until the sun came up and you had to leave. I watched from the doorway, clad in my underwear and your shirt, as you packed a few things in a dingy duffel. After you stood, hugged me aggressively and we stayed locked for another few minutes.

But then you had to go, you said, and walked out the front door. I cried in your wake for days afterwards, but the worst part was not knowing why. You never showed interest in war or fighting or politics, only in music, so I could never figure out what made you do what you did. Was it me, John? God, I wish you could write me back and tell me everything I’ve ever thought about at night while in bed, whishing you were by my side. But you can’t, John, because you told me in the early months that the army wouldn’t let you respond to any letters. But I send them anyway to your naval P.O. box and pretend you are responding back. I’m pretending right now that you’re responding, telling me you remember everything and you could never - would never - forget. But you aren’t and I don’t know if you remember. It’s been two years, John, and I’m just waiting for that one letter to tell me you remember. I’m waiting for that one letter saying you’re coming home and you can’t wait to see me.

Do you remember, John, that I was nineteen and you were twenty-six when we made love for the first time; when we really started loving each other? I guess by now I should know enough about loss to realize that you never really stop missing someone-you just learn to live around the huge gaping hole of their absence.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sigh, John in the navy, who can see that? xo.