He sit up in his bed, trying to wipe away the tears that were welling up in his eyes.
A distant dream.
Visions;
of her mouthing the words “I love you”.
of the sunlight catching her hair just right, making it glow
like a thousand stars.
of her laying in his bed as he would come home from a long
day, her arms reached out, inviting him to share her warmth.
-
He had spent most of his time, working on an old farm truck
his father had left him. It didn’t run and it needed a lot of work, a fitting
metaphor to match the broken and beaten state he was left in after he tried so
hard to make his life work with another’s and had it all thrown in his face.
He didn’t mine being alone, the quiet was nice and he didn’t
feel the need to try and socialize with the people he knew.
Until he had met her…
-
“You’re some kind of fucking masochist, aren’t you?!” she
had asked him one night while he was bringing up his old relationships.
He just stared into his whiskey and stir the ice with a
skinny black straw before he let out a long sigh and answered, “yeahh, I think
so.”
He had been so fucked around before, had his mind twisted
and manipulated against him so much, that it was hard to let someone back in.
He thought it was funny how much he had liked her by this
point, even after just a few dates and nights in.
-
Before he knew it, she had been staying at his place a few
times a week and had even brought over a toothbrush and shampoo to have for the
mornings.
She joked with him, “Looks like I’m pretty much moved in,
you can’t get rid of me now,” with the silly smile that had won him over
many times before.
He shyly smiled back before grabbing her and holding her
tight in his arms.
-
The weight he had lost in his self-depreciating state had
been gained back and then some. She liked to keep him fed, knew it was the
easiest way to keep him in a good mood.
He would sit at the window and get stoned and drink while
she made dinner for the both of them. He would watch her move around the kitchen,
taking in every detail he could. The way her hair would fall as she prepared
different pieces of the meal. The small parts of her butt that would poke from
under her shorts as she bent to get things out of cupboards. The way her hands
moved and the concentrated looks on her face when she was deciding what to use
next.
Occasionally, she would look up to meet his gaze and ask,
“What?”
And he would answer, “Nothing… I just love you.”
-
The evenings were theirs, to do with what they wanted. They
mostly lay in his small bed, holding each other, talking about the things on
their minds or eating shitty fast food and shoving handfuls of candy into their
mouths. Sometimes he would start playing with the spaces between her ribs,
which would make her twitch and giggle until a wrestling match erupted and they
would grapple each other until they were exhausted.
-
She taught him that he was worth something and that despite
being in a relationship, he could still be his own person.
She had given him both the freedom and the companionship he
had longed for.
She would listen to him rant and rave about the drama in his
life.
She would let him complain about the pop icons of the time,
and how he thought it all bullshit and how he couldn’t understand people these
days.
She would entertain his borderline psychotic musings after
he had smoked too much and lost control of his words.
He loved to listen to her talk, she was one of the few
people he could sit and have meaningful conversations with.
He loved that she needed her own independence.
He loved that no matter how down she got, that rather than
take it out on those around her that she was willing to take a moment and
realize and fix her situations.
He loved the way she didn’t wear perfume or scents or feel
the need to do her hair everyday. He missed the tiny little bunch of hair, that
she liked to refer to as a bun, that would sit on top of her head and move
around as she spoke.
He loved that no matter how wound up be could get himself,
that she was there to take away his stress and comfort him when he needed it.
He loved her.
-
Before they both knew it, her time to leave had come.
The night before they had shared an amazing dinner and a
lovely walk around town.
Snapping Polaroids of one another to keep for memories,
laughing, talking.
That night they lay in his bed, holding each other and
confessing the thoughts they had on their minds about one another.
She would begin to cry and he would hold her, and hold back
his own tears until he couldn’t help it anymore. They had been ignoring the
fact for some time and its harsh reality was finally there to slap them in the
face.
The following morning his alarm went off.
Without much talking they both got ready and made their way
to his old farm truck, which he eventually had gotten to run, he opened the
door for her and after she was inside, made his way to the driver’s seat.
They didn’t say much on the way to the station, they simply
held hands and gave each other a little, teary smile every time their eyes.
“You know I’m not going to move,” she said. “You’re going to
have to put me on that train.”
He made his way over to her door, opened it, and took her
hand.
He walked her to the platform and wrapped his arms around
her.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
And after one final kiss, she made her way into the
passenger car of the train.
Moments later, the train left the station.
Her moving slowly away.
Him, alone, standing on the platform.
-
He sit in his bed, trying to ring out these tears, that were
now falling, heavily, onto his sheets.
Was she real? Was she a dream?
She had come and gone before he had the chance to realize
it.
She had taught him so much about himself and what a
relationship was supposed to feel like.
She had helped to restore some of the faith that had been
lost to those that were unkind to him.
He loved her.
