sombre

yarrow eulogies

3:25 PM - sunday august 1st

the sun hung low in the sky‚ casting long shadows across the cracked pavement as the afternoon heat settled like a heavy blanket over the city. it was the kind of summer day that seemed to stretch endlessly‚ where the hours melted together in a haze of sunlight and sweat. i sat on the stoop of our apartment building‚ the chipped concrete cool against my bare legs‚ a cigarette burning between my fingers. the notebook lay open beside me‚ its pages fluttering lazily in the warm breeze‚ taunting me with their emptiness.

he was supposed to meet me here at noon‚ but it was already past two‚ and the only sign of him was the crumpled note he'd left on the kitchen table this morning‚ scribbled in his hurried‚ uneven handwriting : 'back soon. wait for me.' the words were smudged‚ as if written in a rush or with a hand that hadn't yet fully woken up. i traced the letters with my thumb‚ trying to decipher what he hadn't said‚ the spaces between the lines filled with the things he never spoke aloud.

the city hummed with the life that continued without us-distant car horns‚ the chatter of children playing on the sidewalk‚ the low rumble of a train passing somewhere far off. i watched as a group of boys rode by on their bikes‚ their laughter trailing behind them like a ribbon in the wind. they were free in a way i hadn't felt in years‚ unburdened by the weight of knowing too much‚ of feeling too deeply.

the heat was relentless‚ wrapping itself around my skin‚ making the air feel thick‚ almost suffocating. i took a drag from the cigarette‚ the smoke curling up into the cloudless sky‚ where it vanished into the blinding blue. i closed my eyes‚ letting the warmth seep into my bones‚ trying to find comfort in the simple act of being‚ of existing in this moment‚ without him‚ without the need to explain or justify or understand.

but he was always there‚ just beneath the surface of my thoughts‚ like a ghost haunting the edges of my consciousness. i remembered the way his hand felt in mine as we walked along the river last week‚ the silence between us filled with the sound of water lapping against the shore. he didn't speak much then‚ just as he didn't speak much now‚ but his presence was a comfort‚ a reminder that i wasn't alone in this strange‚ endless summer.

i glanced at the notebook again‚ the pen poised to write something‚ anything that might capture the essence of what i felt. but the words refused to come‚ slipping away like the afternoon sun sinking slowly towards the horizon. i wondered if he would show up before dusk‚ or if i'd be left here with nothing but the heat and the quiet and the unfinished thoughts swirling in my head.

the cigarette burned down to the filter‚ and i crushed it beneath my shoe‚ watching the ash scatter across the pavement. the day felt like it was slipping away‚ like so many before it‚ and i knew that when he did finally arrive‚ there would be no grand explanation‚ no outpouring of emotion. he'd just smile that half-smile of his‚ the one that told me everything and nothing all at once‚ and we'd go on as we always had-together‚ yet apart‚ bound by the unspoken things that neither of us could ever put into words.

i leaned back against the stoop‚ letting my head rest against the cool brick wall‚ and closed my eyes once more. the summer air was thick with the scent of cut grass and distant rain‚ and somewhere‚ a radio played an old song that i couldn't quite place. i waited‚ as i had so many times before‚ for him to come back to me, for the day to end‚ for the words to finally find their way to the page.