Astrid

Her bedside table hadn’t been touched in almost eight years, the dust that had settled against her belongings was almost as thick as the lump that had formed in his throat every day that she wasn’t there. The book she had yet to have finished, the bookmark he had constructed for her out of an old magazine and some tape peeked out from three quarters down from the first page. It was a tattered old thing, but it was one that she had found at the bookstore down the street, it had once belonged to an old man during the war, his wife having found it at the bottom of a box full of his things. Because it was something he loved so much, she couldn’t bear to throw it away.

And neither could he.

The coffee cup was still there, perched against the stand of her lamp. The pattern of her red lipstick was still evident around the rim, but it was fading. In all the years that had past, it had gone from her favourite shade of crimson, to a dull pink. She had drunk out of it the last time she was here, when he had made her breakfast because she had refused to leave the comfort of their shared bed for something as stupid as work. Her laugh still resonated in his mind, as well as the face she made when he had brought in a tray covered in pancakes. The way that her lips pulled up at the corners, and her teeth sparkled as they caught the light of the sun rising through the curtains, and those eyes almost completely closed in adoration for the man that had slaved over the stove to make the most mediocre pancakes she had ever laid eyes on.

She loved them.

He drowned out most of his memories about her and stopped chasing them down when they appeared up and out of the blue. Heartache was a dastardly thing. She had been a star that had burned too bright, and exploded, in an array of sparkles that struck him like shards of truth. She wasn’t there anymore. Wasn’t there to tell him that everything was just fine, like she always used to do. The way that she would remind him, that it was okay to be afraid of the unknown. The way that she would dance distractingly away from the tornado that seemed to unhinge his mind and create uncertainty. The way that some days, those dances lasted for hours until the moon arrived and the stars twinkled in the sky. They were laced with enormous giggles, and two left feet on his part. Back then it was magical. They were too young to understand the meaning of love. And too dumb to understand that love didn’t make things immortal. Nothing could make you immortal even though it felt almost true.

The stars reminded him of only one thing of late. That he hated dancing, and the thought of her.

Of Astrid.