Thank You

Nostalgia

There it is. Silence. An unbearable silence.

"I watched him die."

The words echo in my mind, making me go crazy. I have never spoken them out loud.

"I watched him die."

She is looking at me, speechless, not that she isn't full of question, but she respects me, and the time I need to be brave enough to tell my story. Her eyes, I can't look into them. I don't want to see pity. I don't want to face her. I can feel her stare but I will not return it. Not now. I need more time.

I need more time. It has been so long already, but even feeling safe and roughly ready, the words just won't come out just yet. The images are blurry, but only a second later they're clear back again. I can see the faces, I can hear the screams, the secrets, the lies. I can see him. I can see them. I forgot what his voice sounded like, and what his face looked like in most of our memories, but this day, this one time, I have it pictured, framed inside my brain, and I'm afraid it's all that is gonna be left in it one day. Just pain, fear and regret. Guilt. More pain. I tried so hard not to let it get to me, but I couldn't, could I ? I failed, didn't I ? It haunts me, everyday. Everything I ever see in life brings me back to him, to the thought of him, and every word I speak without him by my side hurts more and more as time passes. I wish I could never speak again. As small is the time I spend speaking, I wish I could just stop. It hurts me that he isn't the one I feel safe talking to anymore. I won't open, will I ? Can I ?

The touch of her hand on my wrist makes me jump on my chair and I almost pull away before reminding myself it's her, and I am safe now with her, aren't I ? For the first time in what felt like a million years I lift my gaze to meet hers. Her ocean eyes are filled with warmth, with all the love she could find in her body and soul. Her touch is still hesitant, I know she didn't want to startle me, and she doesn't want to invade my personal space, especially when I space out. She has that soft smile on her lips, and a face a mother could have looking at her child, although there is a slight difference I have her to understand. I can feel my muscles relax, suddenly aware of their former tense state. Her grip on my wrist, yet still soft, gets firmer as soon as she feels my body come down. She's still looking right into my eyes.

"Darling. It's alright."

I want to cry but the tears will not come out of my eyes.

"It is. Alright."

Her thumb moves up and down to softly caresses my wrist.

"You can just... take your time. Do not rush it. It will not make things any better."

Her hand moves up to my forearm, the gesture just as soft and comforting.

"I have to tell you."

Her move stops for a second before going back to the sweet and loving gesture.

"You do not have to tell me."

"I do."

"Darling..."

"It's not for you. It's for me."

Her finger stops moving for good but she keeps her hand on my arm. Her eyes are looking for answers in mine.

"I need to. I need... I have kept this in for too long. For years. I keep reminiscing... I have to tell you. It's about time I did. And you, you are the one person I've ever felt safe around since Romeo."

"Romeo ?"

I can't help but smile. The happy memories come flooding in whenever I hear his name, but they're too soon clouded by the clear picture of that one day that ended it all for him, but also for me - or so I thought.

"He was everything to me. I need to talk. I need to tell you. He needs to live in someone else's mind, not just mine, I... He deserves to be alive. He should be here. So, this is the least that I can do, isn't it ? I just can't seem to find the words. I have never said them out loud. This is so much harder than I could have ever imagined it to be."

"Why don't you tell me about him ? Not whatever has a hard time to come out of your mouth, but him as a person. As the person you love and remember. The happy memories."

"They're blurry."

The room, the moment, the company. It feels just like a movie. A dream. I have yet to discover whether it is a good one or not, but I feel warm. I feel love. The memories seem clearer now. I still can't quite hear him, he's far away, but I can see him. Nostalgia.

"Just tell me what you can remember. Even the smallest of things can bring you warmth."

"He was... tall."

I can't help but dryly chuckle at the stupidity of my comment.

"He was a bit over six years than me, and he took pride in saying that, unlike his other friends, he was expected me with joy and excitement, and loved every bite of me from the moment I was born into this world. We were always close, but every second it felt like we grew closer. Anything could just get us to... connect. Like twins born six years apart."

I can feel her smile.

"He taught me all that I know. I... I remember, he would teach me things he'd learned at school, so when I got there I already knew so much. I was made fun of for it. Brains, they called me. But I didn't care. Not after a while. Because all that mattered is that I memorized every single thing he'd taught me. I was good at it. My memory isn't any good now."

"It feels like it is doing alright, darling."

I meet her gaze and bite my lip, smiling. I do feel the warmth.

"He loved hanging out with his friends, I mean, he was pretty popular around people, unlike me, but he told me he would've rather spend time with me than with them. With 'the other part of him'."

"Did he say that ?"

"Yes. He would always repeat it to me. We shared so much together. Our parents joked about being afraid that we couldn't fully love them because we loved each other so much, it was almost scary if you think about it. We were happy. Both of us, but also as a family. Each year..."

I have to take a pause, my heart beating fast in my chest as these words hit more than ever tonight. Her touch tighten for a second, encouraging me to keep going.

"Each year, on Christmas Eve, we would sit at the window, waiting for snow to start falling. You know all these Christmas movies and books, all the songs talking about a white Christmas, well, we were waiting for it to happen. Waiting for the magic."

With the tip of my finger, I pick up a drop of melted snow from my drying jacket and stare at it for a second.

"It never happened. It never snowed. But it was okay. We would be disappointed for a second then smile at each other and go eat dinner with mom and dad. And then... Dad would always get us tickets on Christmas Eve."

My breathing is erratic.

"Theatre."

I can see her mouth slightly open as she understands our second meeting.

"Romeo and I... We just loved theatre. We loved drama. This theatre in town was the only think we cherished, the only building that is. We waited for that moment every year. Waiting in line, the excitement, the beautiful clothes, and then the play. That was the real magic. We were... breathless. All throughout the play. Any play. We would fantasize about... having one of the boxes as our own. Spending all night and eternity in it. We never could afford it really, but he promised me one day we would make it happen. We weren't poor, but Christmas tickets are quite expensive, and these weren't the only presents we got, so... we were dreaming about it. We were dreaming about it."

I take a brief pause during which she doesn't say a word, either out of respect, or just because she is busy internalizing all the sudden information.

"Tonight it snowed on the twenty-fourth. Not just a little. And I got a ticket to watch a play from one of the theater's boxes. But he wasn't there."

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nothing to say, i'm going to sleep, i'm still hurt :')