I want to go to a concert in Florida, but I don't want to go alone. Yet I have no choice but to go alone. Any suggestions on how I can get over my fear of being alone in a land I don't recognize?
Berries reminded her of mornings spent together dreaming of forever; the quiet breathing and small smiles that shined bright even on the darkest of days. It reminded her of laughter in the evenings, when they'd act so childish it was hard to believe they were adults. These moments are what she'd lived for.
But now they're gone.
Maybe it was the way the bedroom looked after she woke from a long nap; it reminded her of nights lost, tossing in the covers with someone. Maybe it was the way that song played out of nowhere; she hadn’t heard it in months, but still knew ever beat, every sound, every background instrument that played in harmony. It was their song. She knew things a little too well to forget them so easily. And that was her own problem. It wasn’t fixable.
She’d walk to the small kitchen – all gray and white, tiles chipped by the bar, and a stool seat with a ripped cushion. She hated it, but kept it that way for memories. How that stupid knife hit the seat- but it was better that than him.
She’d wipe off the counter, grab fruit from the fridge, wash them, and place them in a bowl. While leaning against the cool surface of the bar, she’d think back- back to a time where she’d smile for no reason. A time where everything seemed so simple, yet so complex. A time where she had no worries, yet she was afraid of losing it all. She’d never image herself now- like this. Completely okay, but still dying internally because a part of her- someone- that piece was missing. It always would be.
Maybe it was the usual morning routine of waking up, eating fruit, and chatting away with that loved one. She never wanted to be so lovestruck, but she had been, the effect never wearing off.
Maybe it was the quiet whispers of dreams, and their future, and what would happen if the world ended tomorrow. She didn’t want kids, she wanted a small apartment, just them.
Maybe it was the sad look she gave him one day, the day she found out everything. Maybe it was that. And maybe we’ll never know. But she did. She knew everything.
She knew how he’d wash his clothes, hiding them from her so lipstick prints wouldn’t show. It wasn’t red, but it was a soft pink. Noticeable to anyone.
She knew how he’d fix his hair before entering her apartment, making sure the shaggy do wasn’t so distressed and messed up. But it would be. And she knew how he’d quiet down on certain days, the days he felt guilt and regret, but still did it because he wanted that girl. She knew it all. She knew everything a little too well.
But as she finished her fruit, keeping the last berry in her mouth and savoring the tangy flavor, she thought to herself. Maybe it was her that messed it all up- after all, she could be clingy. Maybe it was her, the way she’d always ask him where he’d been after long nights gone- she could be nosy. Maybe it was because she wasn’t the most appealing person on nights- she didn’t want to be desperate. But she’d never know that. She’d never know the reason behind why that other girl got more attention in the end. Why she was the precious mistress who pleased her man.
And as she swallowed the last bite of fruit, she smiled sadly to herself. Maybe she was better of not knowing; better off without him; better off as she is now. But that was something she’d never know about. After all, she can’t know everything, can she?
But she’d still follow through with that all-too-familiar routine; wake up, eat fruit, reminisce in the memories of long ago; she’d message her friends, asking someone to hang out, go to practice, sing. She had a life- a job. She had responsibility. So she’d forget him until the night, when she’d lie in bed and miss the warm presence beside her. She’d miss him. And questions always lingered in the air around her; whispering things that she didn’t want to hear. But it was every night that’d she’d fall asleep wondering; if things hadn’t of gone so bad, would he still be there?
Maybe.
But ‘maybe’ wasn’t good enough. And she’d kill herself wondering on and on until her last moment on Earth. She couldn’t do that, but she would. Because love isn’t easy- never was for her. And she’d cling to those memories of him. Even the memories of waking up and kissing him, followed by goofy exchanges of raspberries and blackberries and staining their fingers with the juice. She’d never let the memories go. Even if she needed to.
