you.

Dear You,

I remember you. You used to be my hastening light, illuminating the ocean in the sky. Everything is grey now. No more bursts of green and murmurings of leaves like before. Our destination changed, but I never got to say my goodbye. Everything is barren now, stripping all possibility of our reconciliation.

It must be grief. Or sadness. What’s the difference? Forgive me, everything I know about feeling comes from a scattered collection of fiction hiding in my cellar. Words can only do some much sometimes. I try and lose myself in them, but my reality is hardly dissolvable. So, I sit in the dark and wait for nothing. My walls acting as my protection and prison simultaneously. I think I am the only one.

I know I am the only one. It doesn’t scare me, but I haven’t exactly figured fear out yet. People used to say fear was the last feeling leading up to ‘the draining’. I can imagine that to be true, but I don’t remember my transformation. All I remember is the way they snatched people off the street, out of homes and from their families. At any time. They were returned but were never the same. We witnessed the cessation of life, or anything that makes life worth living from them. A human form of oblivion, nullifying any capacity for emotion, experience, or life. Memory can be such a cruel thing. The wounds of the past are somewhat present and slowly returning to my conscious. But I will carry on.

The intent soon became clear. We were created to destroy. Instantly, we were weakening you, robbing you of essence and beauty. I remember how easily the fires consumed you. I remember how easily you evaporated into ash. The lack of emotion made it an easy thing to do- no guilt, no remorse. Memory can be such a cruel thing.

I did not see you again.

One day changed everything for me. I replay it in my mind, always. I remember opening my eyes and the compound no longer surrounded me. I could not feel the burn of straps confining my wrists to a wall or the numb silence I had become accustomed to. It was different, although I had no reaction to it. Upon adjusting, my eyes were drawn to the brief glimmer of sparkle. Although tainted, it had no trouble retaining its beauty. A heart-shaped locket with cascading interwoven design on both sides. Dangling in front of me. You could tell it had been worn well and deeply cherished. It has been so long since I last saw any silver, I felt an electric jolt in the bottom of my heart. I felt again. I still don’t know the name of that feeling.

Attached to the locket was a hand; steady but devoured in cuts and bruises. Following the injuries led me to him, staring at me as if I was an escaped animal.

“Thought that would wake you”. His smirk stretched across the lower part of his face. I stared. “Nice to finally meet you”, he continued. “Nothing?”.

I remember saying nothing. The interaction was completely alien to me, and I could not recall the motion of conversations we had before ‘the draining’.

With hesitation I replied, “yes”. The sound barely escaped my mouth.

“Progress! He speaks! Thank God for that, I had a bet going against myself that you would. I win!”. His electricity frightened me. So much energy with each syllable. It had been such a long time. My face broke into an elementary smile- I couldn’t help it.

“A smile? See I’m bringing you back, I know you still have them”. Confidence seeped through his pores in an infectious manner. I remained still until I drifted back into unconsciousness.

I remember dreaming only of him. The brutality of his scars complemented the serenity in the blue of his eyes, tumbling locks of black framing his story. I thought I would never be able to appreciate beauty again, but I had little trouble this time. There was warmth though, an atmosphere that was most welcoming with him. It was foreign to me, but I liked it. He had shown me an alternative reality and I was hooked. Ready.

I did not see him again.

Waking up to the lack of his presence was a piercing reality. The memory fills me with pain. I hurt at the sight of the locket and the echo of his voice in my mind. Inside my chest, my emotions are mangled and my mind races with thoughts of what could have been. I am somewhat feeling again. I can appreciate happiness, but sadness is the one that often consumes me. Often, I wonder whether feeling serves as a curse, the silence is made harder when I am not numb to it. But I cannot go back to how things used to be.

I tell myself I wait for nothing when really, I wait for him. Again, I never got to say my goodbye.