Still With Me

When I was younger, I knew a boy. His face was so beautiful, like it had been sculptured by the hands of god. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown- one glance would have you falling to your knees. His hair was soft and choppy, like waves on a fierce day, they were controlled but careless. His skin was a rich olive colour, suiting his dark features perfectly. His lips were full and pink, almost feminine, but not quite. His neck was long and slender, much alike the rest of his body. His collar bones stuck out every time he moved, jutting out, begging to be touched, kissed. His hands were big and rough looking, but I knew that if I touched them they would be soft and gentle, caressing, even.

These were his physical traits- the things that got him attention, but it was him, really him that got to me. The way he was confident, brash, but I could tell it was an act. He was delicate, fragile like a baby, yet he was treated with such disregard it would be hard to believe. His soul was beautiful- genuinely stunning. He was one of those rare people who are beautiful inside and out. He was popular, but lonely. I doubted many people could see it, but I could. I could see the massive beaming smile on his face, but more importantly, I could see the dead, distant, hollow look in his eyes. The look that showed me he wasn't happy. The look that made my heart ache so desperately I felt I would drop down dead any minute.

But all of this changed when he and I were alone. When he left his fake companions, the cheerleaders and even the fans of our little band, and was by my side. Whether we were sitting either of our bedrooms, or at our spot, he was different. The smile he normally wore like a uniform was there, but it was also present in his eyes. That heart wrenchingly sad look was gone, replaced with joy and warmth. This is what kept me going most days, knowing that I, such a basic being, was capable of bringing such happiness to such a beautiful person.

In those moment, the moments where I was looking at him and he was looking right back, were a few of those times when you are truly happy. Not in the sense of you have received a gift and you are pleasantly surprised, or you are on a day out with friends and you are feeling content with the world. No, I mean one of those moments when you don’t have a single care in the world. One of those moments when you are there and the person you love is there and nothing could come between you. All your other thoughts are lost and your worries have flown away. One of those moments. When I was with him, every moment was one of those moments.

I remember one time very specifically. I remember sitting at our spot: under the old oak tree on top of the hill in the park, downtown Baltimore. The one spot where if you lay right, on a clear night you could see every single star in the sky, and you felt free.

That was why it was our spot. Because nobody else went there, and it was one place where two people could connect, and not a single word was needed to do so. He and I were good at that- silent conversations. We just had to look at each other- the slightest of head movements and the shade of his deep brown eyes told me exactly what I needed to know. He never did utter the three words I was always dying to hear. I told him countless times, that I loved him. At the time I didn’t think he replied because I didn’t think he believed me. Now I know though. Now I know he did love me. He had so many admirers and he never believed one compliment to ever leave any of their mouths. Gorgeous became just another word to him. One he soon became sick of. I think that was another reason why we connected.

He was a writer- a dreamer. He was always scribbling down in his little moleskin notebook. The fancy kind you get for your birthday or Christmas with a posh writing pen. He never used the posh pen. He used whatever he could find. It was only the summer after he left for the first time that I got to look inside that notebook. That was how I found out he loved me. We would spend all year round together. All school year, and every night. Then when it came to summer. Each summer he would leave, go travelling for a while, but every time he left me his notebook. He told me it was because he was scared I would leave him, but he and I both knew the real reason he gave it to me.

He knew I wouldn’t leave him. He knew my very existence depended on his presence. He gave me that notebook so I was happy. Happy that he was mine and I was his and nothing would change that, because that book was filled, nearly bursting with every little thing we did together. All his feelings when we were together were inside that book and it gave me confidence to know that such a beautiful being was so dependent on me. Summers were the hardest times, when he was gone and I was alone, sat staring hopelessly out of my bedroom window, spending my hours praying to god that he’d be okay, and he would come back to me, as perfect as ever.

Every year I’d worry, and every year he would come back. Every year I’d hand his journal over to him, and every year he’d take my hand in his and lead me up to our spot, his soft lips spilling every tiny happening of his adventures, and every year I would sit and listen, eyes wide and attentive, my heart aching with the desire to go with him, to travel with him, see sights and wonders as beautiful as him, with him.

I remember last time I saw him. His eyes weren’t as sparkling and happy as they normally were when we were together. In my mind I told myself it was because he was going away; a thought I blame myself for every second that drags by, every single day. I remember the way he’d leaned into me, holding me tighter than normal, his arms wrapping around me, fingers clinging onto me as if he was scared to let go- as if I was an anchor, rooting him to the ground, and if he let go, he’d float away.

He’d handed me the journal, his fingers shaking, and I’d taken it, slotting it into my backpack as normal, and when I'd looked up, my eyes focusing on his, my heart stopped, before shrinking dramatically and laying itself to rest. His eyes, his perfect hazel eyes, were glowing, shining with a salty sheen. One single tear drop had snaked its way down his cheek, leaving a dark, damp trail behind it. He’d raised his hand and wiped it away, as he’d whispered instructions, which I would follow until the day I died; alone but not lonely, missing the one person he thought he’d never lose.
“Live each day as if it’s your last on earth, Lexy, even if I’m not here to share it with you.”
As usual I’d waited until the next day, until I’d started to miss him properly, to read the past years’ worth of thoughts and emotions that he’d written in his old, moleskin journal that he treasured so dearly.

I remember the sinking feeling I got in my stomach, as if all my innards had suddenly dropped down my legs and to my feet, weighing me down to that one spot, a permanent anchor of grief and sadness. The feeling of sickness, raw and nagging, and it feeling like someone was pushing my stomach outwards from inside, slowly twisting my internal organs round and round, torturing me from the inside out.

I remember reading that sentence, the one sentence that has haunted my hollow, lifeless mind for so many years now. I remember the way he’d written it with no care, his handwriting sloppier than usual, as if he had given up completely, the ink smudging slightly in his hurry to write down the words.

By the time you read this, I should be gone. Not away on holiday, gone for good. Dead.
I remember feeling the light in my world slowly dim, like when you go to the cinema, and you’re sat waiting for the movie to start, and ever so slowly the light fades into darkness, and your tiredness of waiting turns into eager anticipation. I remember feeling exactly the opposite- my anticipation of life, fading into a dull, lifeless emotion that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It felt almost as if I wasn’t there anymore. I remember the feeling well, because the feeling still hasn’t quite gone away.
I remember sitting down and curling myself so small and reading the rest of his letter, so small I felt nobody would be able to see me if they were to accidentally stumble upon my downfall. Upon the seemingly underweight teenager with the limp mousy hair, the tired eyes and the oversized clothes, curling up in the corner of his room, as everything he knew and loved came crashing down around him.

I couldn’t take it anymore, Lex, I just couldn’t. I know you know that I wasn’t happy, and I know you know that I’ll be much happier now. I haven’t really been writing in my journal much this past year, I’ve wanted this letter to be the only thing left- the letter finishes on the last page of the journal, which is pretty cool, right? My whole, short life, documented in this one journal. I wanted to write this to you, because I know that you’ll blame yourself. You’ll overthink all the ways that you could have stopped me; but I want you to know that there is no way you could have stopped me. This is what I want, and I need you to know that you were the only thing that kept me hanging on for so long. Every night that I was sat at home, blade in hand, pills and my dad’s whisky by my side, rope in the corner of my room- I never did it. I put everything away and thought of you. YOU are what kept me alive, and shone light in my never ending world of darkness, and for that, I can’t thank you enough, and although I’m gone, I want you to be happy. I know it won’t be easy at first, but I need you to move on, okay? I know you have no confidence, and that you don’t think you’re anything special, but believe me, Alexander William Gaskarth, you are something special. You make the most beautiful sight look ugly, you make the funniest man alive look dull. You are incredible, and you deserve to be cherished. And although I couldn’t do the job myself, you deserved to be loved like you love, and you deserve to have someone look at you the way that I look at the deluxe home alone dvd you got me for Christmas. There, you’re smiling aren’t you? Good, you look stunning when you smile. It lights your whole face up, and you look like an angel, hand crafted by god himself. I need to go now, but please, remember, that you are beautiful, you are loved, and you are worth something. Even when you feel so hopelessly down you feel like coming and joining me, remember that I don’t want you here. I want you down there, living, breathing, and making the most of every single day. The love I feel for you can’t be described with words, which is why I never said it out loud. But, I left you a present. Put the CD which I left in the back of the journal in the player I got you once you finish reading this. I really need to go now, Lexy, but never, ever forget how much you mean to me, and how happy you make me. I will always be looking down on you. Take care of yourself for me, precious, okay? I love you, for all enternity, your Jacky. (Jack Bassam Barakat, if we’re gonna be classy mother fuckers.) P.s. I meant what I said. Live each day as if it’s your last on earth, Lexy, even if I’m not here to share it with you. I love you xxxxxxx

By the time I’d reached the end of the letter, hot, wet streaks were racing down my cheeks, my eyes stinging from the salty wetness, but never the less, I reached for my CD player, put the CD inside and pressed play.

For a good ten seconds, the recording was just breathing, and then, a croaky, tear ridden voice began to speak.

“Alexander William Gaskarth, I love you. I love you more than anything in this entire world, and I need you to know that. So I’m telling you now. I know I never said it and it’s one of my biggest regrets, but I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much. I will always be here for you, beautiful. I love you.”

I remember crying harder, finally hearing his perfect voice saying those words. Those three, perfect words, fall from his lips as if they were made to be spoken by his lips.

I remember my life feeling incomplete, but complete also, all at the same time.
I still feel that way.

I miss him, more than I could ever explain to another being, who hasn’t lost the one they love with every ounce of themselves.

I miss him, but I know he is still here with me, and I await the day I am reunited with him. For the moment I am wrapped in his embrace once more, his smell lingering on my skin for hours after, and I miss his eyes. I miss his beautiful, deep chocolate brown eyes, more than anything.

When I was younger, I knew a boy. His face was so beautiful, like it had been sculptured by the hands of god.

I will never forget that boy.