There Is a Light That Never Goes Out
There Is a Light That Never Goes Out
We don’t talk anymore. Well, not the way we used to. Long gone are the days and nostalgic nights spent discussing the meaning of life, death, music, and memory. Long gone are the nights spent putting on record after record on that old player, a memory from the 1970s that once belonged to your father. It used to be the two of us against the world, but now? Well, now I rarely ever see you.
“It’s a shame,” I mumble to myself as I walk by the Silverspot Café, a place I used to frequent in the days long before you. I spare myself a moment to stop and glance through the window and watch as the barista fights an espresso machine gone awry. I watch the blonde girl argue with the machine that is spewing smoke, as the memory of the time that beat up old truck of yours left us stranded on the side of the road, waiting for hours until the tow truck finally came. I haven’t thought about that day for quite some time. I just wish you were here now, so we could reminisce and laugh about the fleeting past. But you aren’t. You haven’t been here in quite some time.
I continue my late night walk. I watch myself in the glass, as I pass by a window on one of the old shops. I think about how strange it is to see yourself in something transparent. The October wind rustles my hair as a car passes by. I think of that summer night two years ago; the night we drove aimlessly for hours, driving for the sake of driving, and only stopped until we were met with a view of the stars and concert of cicadas that weren’t possible within our small town. That was before everything changed.
You changed. You began to distance yourself from me, something I hadn’t noticed at the time. Looking back, I realize now that you weren’t being quiet because you were listening to my rambling, or the cicadas. You were quiet because something else had your mind being pulled a million miles away. I don’t know how I never noticed. The signs were all there, but I guess my rose-tinted glasses got in the way.
As I walk down these lonely night lit streets, I can’t help but wondering what you would be doing if you were still here. I miss your laugh. A couple passes me by, I see their hands entwined. The wind moves its invisible hand to clasp mine, bringing with it another memory, and another one with that. That’s the thing about memory, you can’t shake it. The past is always present, and the memories surface one after another, until the weight of time and longing lead to asphyxiation.
This night has opened my eyes. I hadn’t allowed myself much time to dwell on the decay of our relationship, whatever it had been. I used to believe that you’d never leave, but that was foolish of me. I knew you would, but that doesn’t lessen the degree of disappointment and hurt that comes with the apocalypse of a relationship.
You said that we would still be friends, but we needed to spend less time together, so we did. However, the time we spent together gradually decreased over the course of six months, until the conversations ceased all together. No calls, no texts. They say that communication is a two-way street, but that street seemed to have a dead end, which the vehicle careened over the edge of its cliff. We simply do not talk anymore.
I desire closure. I desire the finality of the end, to know what went wrong and when. I saw you the other day. You looked me directly in the face and walked right by me, as if I were a stranger. As if you never even knew me. That hurt. That hurt worse than any wound inflicted by either word or knife could create. Maybe that’s the reality of it all? Maybe I never really knew you? Maybe I just knew things about you? I was fooled by what I had once believed to be facts.
I come to a crosswalk and stare at the window to my left to gaze upon an empty art gallery that must’ve just closed, because the lights are still on. I check my phone. 12:30. I guess they meant to leave the lights on? The crosswalk signal shows the white figure of a person walking and motions me forward. I walk across the street as the wind dances around me. It’s colder than it was when this walk first began. The night sky touches everything. It’s darker now. Maybe I should just go home? Perhaps I just need to stop myself from dwelling on the past, from our falling out?
The sound of deserted streets is silence. It radiates through the streets; an eerie, yet comforting song you can’t help but sway along to. It wasn’t my intention to stay out this late, but I can’t shake the anxiety. I can’t soothe the thoughts. Can’t stop the memories either. I’ll be insane by morning, and you’ll be gone. I wish I would have never answered that call.
Hearing your mother’s sobbing voice on the other end was unexpected to say the least. However, her reason for calling is what has led to this nighttime wandering. I can’t shake this sinking feeling, nor can I untwist the knots that my anxiety has tied, as if my stomach were made of rope.
Her words shook me to my core:
“There was an accident,” was all she could muster between sobs. It was your brother who filled in the missing details, which involved that old truck and your injuries. He told me that the doctors weren’t sure if you would make it, and speculated about whether you’d make it to see the morning. I don’t know if I could handle seeing you in that state. This night is in your honor, dear friend. I once thought the hardest loss to cope with was the death of someone who was still living, but I was wrong. How do you mourn someone who is already dead? It’s as if you’re already gone.
The wind picks up, howling, and chilling me to the bone. I stand on the street corner arguing with myself; I must look crazy. I finally give into the part of me that tells me to turn back and begin the journey home. I pull my headphones out of my pocket, connect them to my phone, and open Spotify. I scroll through my playlists and find one I haven’t seen in quite some time. It’s the one you filled with Morrissey and The Smiths. You said it was music to contemplate to; you certainly weren’t wrong about that. I think about the night we drove the four hours to the beach, Morrissey’s voice crooning the entire way. You laughed as I bobbed and swayed along to the sound.
My eyes scan the playlist until I see “Girlfriend In A Coma” and can’t help but hit play. I forgot how upbeat and optimistic the sound is, while the lyrical content is downright depressing. The song plays through and “I Know It’s Over” begins. The song is a slow drag of a cigarette at midnight; perfect. It matches my mood. I walk as Morrissey sings to me about longing and loss. I start to think that I should go to you. Before it’s too late. Before you’re gone.
I walk on, several more upbeat songs play before the playlist finally comes to the one I’ve been dreading to hear all night:
“Take me out tonight,” the song begins. We used to spend hours arguing over what the light was and the overall meaning of the song. This argument usually caused us to have to listen to it more than once. I remember the first time I ever listened to it. It made me feel nostalgic, as it does now. It was a strange, uncanny sort of nostalgia. The nostalgia before it was nostalgia. There was something familiar about it, even though I had never heard it before that night.
I can’t help but miss you in the moment. How unfair it is to lose someone you’ve already lost. I fear the memories will leave with you. I fear that the ever-pressing urgency of time will take more of you away from me as it passes. One day I will forget your voice, your face, the way your eyes light up when you smile. All of you will be lost, and that’s something I never thought I’d have to go through. I thought I had time. Everything seems so hopeless now. There’s no hope for reconcile, for second chances. All there is to do is wait. Wait to see what happens. But the odds don’t seem to be in your favor, and this may be the end.
I do something that I normally wouldn’t do; I pray to any god who will hear my pleading for just one more day, one more chance to fix what has been broken, but I know it’s in vain. What’s going to happen is going to happen, regardless. Time stops for no one. Life goes on, even if you don’t want it to. That’s the thing about time, it moves on its own never-ending continuum. Time cares not for you or I. There are no miracles in the course of time. Rather, there are simply moments that seem to make time come to a crawl, but it never stops. Time does not stand still. I curse the very concept of time under my breath as I find myself standing under a streetlight. There’s nothing I can do. I cannot fix you now, just like I couldn’t fix us then. It is simply out of my hands, out of my control. I brace myself for the blow of reality, grounding myself in the reality that this is most likely the end. Now you’re lying in that hospital bed hooked up to some machine, and I’m here on the street, thinking about old record players and witnessing a barista fight an espresso machine on the fritz. The universe has a sick sense of humor, that’s for sure.
My mind won’t stop with the ‘what ifs?’ and the various outcomes it keeps coming up with, there’s no stopping it now. I know my anxious mind will not let me sleep tonight. I know this is the end. I come upon the empty art gallery and stand in front of it once more, gazing at the empty well-lit space. I think of you once more, whispering my goodbyes, just before the light goes out. I see your reflection next to mine in the glass, and that’s how I know. There is a light that never goes out.
“It’s a shame,” I mumble to myself as I walk by the Silverspot Café, a place I used to frequent in the days long before you. I spare myself a moment to stop and glance through the window and watch as the barista fights an espresso machine gone awry. I watch the blonde girl argue with the machine that is spewing smoke, as the memory of the time that beat up old truck of yours left us stranded on the side of the road, waiting for hours until the tow truck finally came. I haven’t thought about that day for quite some time. I just wish you were here now, so we could reminisce and laugh about the fleeting past. But you aren’t. You haven’t been here in quite some time.
I continue my late night walk. I watch myself in the glass, as I pass by a window on one of the old shops. I think about how strange it is to see yourself in something transparent. The October wind rustles my hair as a car passes by. I think of that summer night two years ago; the night we drove aimlessly for hours, driving for the sake of driving, and only stopped until we were met with a view of the stars and concert of cicadas that weren’t possible within our small town. That was before everything changed.
You changed. You began to distance yourself from me, something I hadn’t noticed at the time. Looking back, I realize now that you weren’t being quiet because you were listening to my rambling, or the cicadas. You were quiet because something else had your mind being pulled a million miles away. I don’t know how I never noticed. The signs were all there, but I guess my rose-tinted glasses got in the way.
As I walk down these lonely night lit streets, I can’t help but wondering what you would be doing if you were still here. I miss your laugh. A couple passes me by, I see their hands entwined. The wind moves its invisible hand to clasp mine, bringing with it another memory, and another one with that. That’s the thing about memory, you can’t shake it. The past is always present, and the memories surface one after another, until the weight of time and longing lead to asphyxiation.
This night has opened my eyes. I hadn’t allowed myself much time to dwell on the decay of our relationship, whatever it had been. I used to believe that you’d never leave, but that was foolish of me. I knew you would, but that doesn’t lessen the degree of disappointment and hurt that comes with the apocalypse of a relationship.
You said that we would still be friends, but we needed to spend less time together, so we did. However, the time we spent together gradually decreased over the course of six months, until the conversations ceased all together. No calls, no texts. They say that communication is a two-way street, but that street seemed to have a dead end, which the vehicle careened over the edge of its cliff. We simply do not talk anymore.
I desire closure. I desire the finality of the end, to know what went wrong and when. I saw you the other day. You looked me directly in the face and walked right by me, as if I were a stranger. As if you never even knew me. That hurt. That hurt worse than any wound inflicted by either word or knife could create. Maybe that’s the reality of it all? Maybe I never really knew you? Maybe I just knew things about you? I was fooled by what I had once believed to be facts.
I come to a crosswalk and stare at the window to my left to gaze upon an empty art gallery that must’ve just closed, because the lights are still on. I check my phone. 12:30. I guess they meant to leave the lights on? The crosswalk signal shows the white figure of a person walking and motions me forward. I walk across the street as the wind dances around me. It’s colder than it was when this walk first began. The night sky touches everything. It’s darker now. Maybe I should just go home? Perhaps I just need to stop myself from dwelling on the past, from our falling out?
The sound of deserted streets is silence. It radiates through the streets; an eerie, yet comforting song you can’t help but sway along to. It wasn’t my intention to stay out this late, but I can’t shake the anxiety. I can’t soothe the thoughts. Can’t stop the memories either. I’ll be insane by morning, and you’ll be gone. I wish I would have never answered that call.
Hearing your mother’s sobbing voice on the other end was unexpected to say the least. However, her reason for calling is what has led to this nighttime wandering. I can’t shake this sinking feeling, nor can I untwist the knots that my anxiety has tied, as if my stomach were made of rope.
Her words shook me to my core:
“There was an accident,” was all she could muster between sobs. It was your brother who filled in the missing details, which involved that old truck and your injuries. He told me that the doctors weren’t sure if you would make it, and speculated about whether you’d make it to see the morning. I don’t know if I could handle seeing you in that state. This night is in your honor, dear friend. I once thought the hardest loss to cope with was the death of someone who was still living, but I was wrong. How do you mourn someone who is already dead? It’s as if you’re already gone.
The wind picks up, howling, and chilling me to the bone. I stand on the street corner arguing with myself; I must look crazy. I finally give into the part of me that tells me to turn back and begin the journey home. I pull my headphones out of my pocket, connect them to my phone, and open Spotify. I scroll through my playlists and find one I haven’t seen in quite some time. It’s the one you filled with Morrissey and The Smiths. You said it was music to contemplate to; you certainly weren’t wrong about that. I think about the night we drove the four hours to the beach, Morrissey’s voice crooning the entire way. You laughed as I bobbed and swayed along to the sound.
My eyes scan the playlist until I see “Girlfriend In A Coma” and can’t help but hit play. I forgot how upbeat and optimistic the sound is, while the lyrical content is downright depressing. The song plays through and “I Know It’s Over” begins. The song is a slow drag of a cigarette at midnight; perfect. It matches my mood. I walk as Morrissey sings to me about longing and loss. I start to think that I should go to you. Before it’s too late. Before you’re gone.
I walk on, several more upbeat songs play before the playlist finally comes to the one I’ve been dreading to hear all night:
“Take me out tonight,” the song begins. We used to spend hours arguing over what the light was and the overall meaning of the song. This argument usually caused us to have to listen to it more than once. I remember the first time I ever listened to it. It made me feel nostalgic, as it does now. It was a strange, uncanny sort of nostalgia. The nostalgia before it was nostalgia. There was something familiar about it, even though I had never heard it before that night.
I can’t help but miss you in the moment. How unfair it is to lose someone you’ve already lost. I fear the memories will leave with you. I fear that the ever-pressing urgency of time will take more of you away from me as it passes. One day I will forget your voice, your face, the way your eyes light up when you smile. All of you will be lost, and that’s something I never thought I’d have to go through. I thought I had time. Everything seems so hopeless now. There’s no hope for reconcile, for second chances. All there is to do is wait. Wait to see what happens. But the odds don’t seem to be in your favor, and this may be the end.
I do something that I normally wouldn’t do; I pray to any god who will hear my pleading for just one more day, one more chance to fix what has been broken, but I know it’s in vain. What’s going to happen is going to happen, regardless. Time stops for no one. Life goes on, even if you don’t want it to. That’s the thing about time, it moves on its own never-ending continuum. Time cares not for you or I. There are no miracles in the course of time. Rather, there are simply moments that seem to make time come to a crawl, but it never stops. Time does not stand still. I curse the very concept of time under my breath as I find myself standing under a streetlight. There’s nothing I can do. I cannot fix you now, just like I couldn’t fix us then. It is simply out of my hands, out of my control. I brace myself for the blow of reality, grounding myself in the reality that this is most likely the end. Now you’re lying in that hospital bed hooked up to some machine, and I’m here on the street, thinking about old record players and witnessing a barista fight an espresso machine on the fritz. The universe has a sick sense of humor, that’s for sure.
My mind won’t stop with the ‘what ifs?’ and the various outcomes it keeps coming up with, there’s no stopping it now. I know my anxious mind will not let me sleep tonight. I know this is the end. I come upon the empty art gallery and stand in front of it once more, gazing at the empty well-lit space. I think of you once more, whispering my goodbyes, just before the light goes out. I see your reflection next to mine in the glass, and that’s how I know. There is a light that never goes out.