𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

thirty eight - yours

•
julia.
•

august 22nd.

packing has always been the worst part of leaving up north. but this time, it feels heavier and a billion times worse. it feels like every single article of clothing that i fold is loaded with a job unfinished. i hated packing, even as a kid. when my dad was alive, he'd pack my bags the night before we left while i slept soundly, like a simple and quiet act of love. but now, it's just me, sitting on the floor of my bedroom and stuffing my clothes into two different suitcases knowing that with every item i pack, i'm also packing away the last pieces of billie, zipping them shut like memories i'm not ready to let go of—but i should be.

it's not the packing itself that i hate, it's the way it leaves me trapped in my own head with nothing to do but think. when i was younger, like twelve through fifteen, it was just because of laziness. i didn't want to leave the lake house because it meant saying goodbye to summer and saying hello to school days. i'd kiss goodbye the sweet scent of nautical life and the stillness of long days spent lying in the sun or wandering and dilly-dallying by the water.

now, i want to get out. now, i want to leave. i want to forget about billie and i want to forget about everything that's ever happened here this summer. it's impossible, of course, because every single thing that i touch reminds me of her. every single shirt that i fold, i had worn at least once around her. or, i see her in it—literally stretching the sleeves as she pulled it on, seeing the way her smile would grow when she said how much she loved my clothes. every single piece of jewelry that i pack was once tangled in her fingers while her head rested on my chest, tracing the outline of my necklaces like it was something else she would want to spend time to memorize. my perfume too, the one i sprayed on so carelessly every morning somehow smells like her now, clinging to the memories i keep of her skin against mine and the nights we spent too close and too entangled. during those moments, if i focused hard enough, i'd still be able to smell myself on her pale and pink skin.

she's never directly sprayed my perfume on, it always just lingered from me to her. she always smelt of vanilla and some sort of masculine muskiness that i couldn't put a name to. it wasn't cologne, because that was much stronger. it was just a hint of femininity and a hint of masculinity, evenly distributing and matching her entire personality. that was addictive on its own.

not only was i packing for home, i was packing away all the known evidence of her existence here, folding her away into the corners of my suitcases, but she still lingers everywhere.

i'm shoving stuff into my suitcases quite carelessly and oh-so desperately to get it done just so i can stop thinking. two suitcases and a giant north face backpack, all piled up, waiting for the end of this mess just as much as i am.

my clothes are neatly folded, but they still feel like complete chaos to me. even the hoodies i have in the closet, including hers, still feel so odd and out-of-place, though they're exactly where they need to be. there's one—a hoodie—that she gave to me after sex one time, when i was cold and it happened to be lying there on the floor. she told me i looked pretty in her clothes even if it looked like it swallowed me whole. if i concentrated hard enough, i can still smell her on that same hoodie—that cologney-vanilla scent that seemed to stay longer than she ever would.

would it be crazy to just keep it in a ziploc bag just so i never lose that scent? can it be the one thing to hold onto, even if i try to erase everything else?

no, it's not crazy at all... right? regardless, i pull it off the hanger in my closet and i lay her faded baby blue hoodie across my white sheets. then, i practically sprint out of my room and down the steps to grab a giant ziploc bag from the kitchen. it's like im in a race, thinking that the longer i leave the hoodie out, the more it'll lose her scent and everything i'm currently doing will be pointless.