water droplets //dnf//

playlist

I get taken back to the hotel. I don't want to step a foot in the dark aura, but I have no choice.

The walk inside is eery and slow knowing I won't see George when I approach the room.

Knowing my boyfriend isnt waiting for me makes the walk there just that much harder. The gold in the hotel trim isn't as shiny without George to show their glow. He made everything better.

When I make it to the room, the caution tape covering the door is a warning. A sign that's saying to back away, never come back.

But my feet continue in, as I duck under the ineffectual yellow warning tape.

Not seeing George waiting for me on the couch hurt. It felt like coming back from the book store all over again. But this time I know he's not here. This time there's no hope.

I see the notes, scattered across the floor. The brown jumper laying on the couch. The book set on the table.

I remember the exact moment I realized what he did. My urgency to reach the balcony. But I was too afraid to actually step on, to see the scene I knew would've broke me.

I take the few steps to reach the center of the room; looking over at the previous mess made from my breakdown. Tears fill my eyes, slowly dropping onto the floor.

I run my hands over the jumper laying beside me. The dark brown fabric was rough compared to when George wore it. When George wore it, it was soft, welcoming. But without his warmth it's cold, unwanting.

It's so different without him.

Remembering his words from the letter, he left me a playlist. Without hesitation I grab my phone from my pocket. Returning to the app scrolling through my playlists.

Then pause when I see one titles "from your george".

I open the playlist to find 13 songs. Each one with a different meaning than the other. Yet they all seem to have significance.

from your george

i need you- m83
the night we met- lord huron
already gone- sleeping at last
the scientist- coldplay
talk me down- troye sivan
grow as we go- ben platt
the story- conan gray
turning page- sleeping at last
a soulmate who wasn't meant to be-jess benko
till forever falls apart- finneas
good guy- frank ocean
asleep- the smiths
heart like yours- willamette stone

I've always understood music better than words. Music has a consistency. A reliable beat that comforts you.

And when that beat changes, you know why.

The lyrics can mean something different or the story in the song is changing. But it's so reliable. A stable system and repetition of notes. It makes so much more sense than words.

George knew that. How I connect everything with a beat, with a rhythm. Rather it be a pattern of blinks, or the rhythm of rain against the roof.

And he took it into consideration. I now realize how much thought he must've put into this. How much time he spent knowing he'd be ending his life.

So I can't bring myself to listen yet. The songs would hold to much weight, and I'm already dragging enough.

Putting down the phone, I walk to the notes.

I pick up the two letters; to the world and to the fans. I fold them with care. Planning to share them after everything is situated.

It hurt to grab the note to me; knowing the intentions of the lettering. I don't even bother looking over the note. If I even glanced at the confession I wouldn't be able to control myself.

So instead I set it back down.

I don't like to admit it, but I'm not strong enough for all of this. It all is happening so quick. I feel terrible for not reacting the right way but.. what is the right way? Am I supposed to be a mess? Am I supposed to put on a mask and say I'm doing fine; because that's what George would want, he'd want me to be fine without him.

I feel so guilty.

My hands start to fidget, I realize if I don't hurry up and leave I'll lose it. I can't stand this hotel anymore.

I grab our bags, that we had packed before we left since it was the last day.

I grab the the notes, the book, the jumper.

I stand everything neatly on one of the suitcases. This room has caused me so much pain. Has cause us so much pain. Well maybe not this room specifically.

If we were here at any other time.. maybe even just a week before, we could've been fine.

But I can't stand here in dread. George would want me to stay strong and go; so I need to go for him. I grip tightly onto the cases, breathing shakil from the overwhelming amount of emotions. Maybe it's from leaving, maybe it's just finally passing over me.

I need to go.

So I leave. Ducking under the caution tape for the final time.

I think about if George was here with me. That doesn't ever seem to end well but I full-heartedly cannot help it.

If he was here I just know he'd be arguing with me about carrying bags.

"dream you know i can carry my own!

i'm not that weak."

And we'd snicker about it until it was too late because we'd already arrived to the car. But instead I walk the diminishing hallways alone.

No George to hold my hand or accidentally step on the back of my shoe. It's true what they say, you don't know how much you'll miss them until they're gone.

He was always there. I'm not complaining though; quite the opposite. His company was warm and welcoming. His presence was safe and amiable. And his smile never failed to build that jovial rapport.

But he isn't here. It feels empty without him beside me. His company is non-existent and I long for it. His presence is just my imagination hoping for any promising factor. His smile, that perfect smile, it's a past memory; a mere recollection.

I make it to the car, the first time in the past week.

If seven days ago you'd told me I'd be leaving this hotel without George. I'd think you were crazy. Nowhere in my mind was that a possibility.

It's crazy how the world can work. Even the least probable things happen so often. Too often.