Peeling wallpaper, your amber hair. These are the things I remember. The scar on your wrist, the taste of chocolate cake on your bed, the little notes you left me.
There are a million words and a million sounds and I am making none of them. I a(more)m changing nothing. But inside I feel something boiling...this hope that you miss me. That you are thinking of me. That the little incidentals of our love are more then a fading memory.
I used to be so eloquent. I used to write prose and write poetry and tell you how much I love you as if those words were the last thing, the only thing that matters. Now I am silent. I think of you and my emotions bubble up so wildly, only to settle into colors and shapes. Nothing I can express. Nothing I can write down in pen and paper.
I miss you, my heart calls. Only it's speaking gibberish. I can barely compose myself to write a cryptic email. "Miss you. Light from blinds seems hopeful. Thinking of that day back when..." But the blurb trails off. There is so much more to say but I don't know how.
There is too much to explain. How my heart is healing and also breaking and how I think of you like a daydream and how no matter how lost I am I always think of you as my north star.
Love is too painful. I don't think I'll try it again. I'd prefer to lie and embellish and live 100 lives instead of 1. This is what changes. This is how I change. Drastic, whip-lash, razor blade to silk and back again. I wish something would unjumble my mind. I wish I could say what I feel. Words don't last.(less)
He wished the weather would turn to something cataclysmic, that the sky would open up and truck-sized hail would fall from the heavens. Something to fit the day better than seventy and sunshine. Anything.
Verbena hopped the back fence, not pausing t(more)o wait for him. She skirted the overgrown herb beds, ignored the crumbling slate walls, and Aiden wasn't sure whether to be afraid of or glad for her indifference. The cedar shingles had fallen off in places along the side of the house, save the one that serendipitously produced a key when she reached under it.
"Are you coming, or admiring the shitty upkeep?" She growled, and walked to the sunroom-turned-greenhouse that adjoined the back of the house. Aiden remembered her smiling and separating succulents in that room. He remembered cleaning every last inch of green-tinged windows when he lost a bet to her that summer. Now, with the panes gray with dirt and nothing but skeletons of stems and leaves hanging from the planters he could see, Aiden wished he didn't remember at all.
Verbena grunted and shoved at the door with her shoulder three times before it gave, key flying into the nearby brush. She cursed at it before stepping inside, swearing again before falling silent.
The room was dusty with crumbled leaves and decay, reminiscent of a hot fall day. Aiden watched Verbena take a moment to survey the greenhouse before she turned quickly on her heel and he followed her, this time using his own weight to open the humidity-sealed door to the house.
The sitting room was stale, wallpaper peeling and faded in the sunlight. Dust motes danced and rose with every step she took, before she stopped in the middle of the carpet and breathed deeply.