𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

forty five - call me by your name

•
julia.
•

december 25th.

silence.

not the insufferable kind that makes you squirm in your seat when it's become too much to tolerate, nor the one that weighs in with heaviness and oppressiveness. but this time, it was gentler and much softer, like the fleece blanket draped over the two of us again, cocooning us in a tiny and fragile little moment. it was somewhat comfortable. but there's a heartbreaking feeling that seemed to be woven into it, both of us holding onto unspoken sorrow that clung to the air like mist because we both knew that this was goodbye. it was the same kind of silence that spoke more than our words ever could, the same kind of silence that told stories of what we left unsaid, silence that whispered, this is it. this is the end.

we both knew it. we both certainly felt it, too. this was our goodbye. this was the final page of whatever story we'd been writing all this time. this was the last moment we'd ever share where things would feel like this. and maybe one day we'd cross paths again. maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe when we're older and a little more tired. but even if we did, even if fate or coincidence brought us back together, it would never be the same.

nothing would be as close as it was in august.

the world outside felt like it had come to a halt, like time itself had stopped just to give us this one last ride together. the roads were deserted and painted in white snow, empty in the way that only happens on christmas morning while everyone else is still tucked away in their warm homes, celebrating and surrounded by the people they love.

some of the snow had turned to gray mushy slush along the pavement, pushed and packed up tight along the curb and rolled out along the rest of the road. the tires of the car made a soft muted squishing sound as they rolled over it constantly.

and then there was the engine. giving a low and steady hum that became background noise, blending in with the rhythmic thud of my heartbeat, also blending with the gentle rise and fall of her breathing beside me.

every now and then, she'd shift in her seat, just a little bit, and i'd glance over, my eyes lingering on the curve of her jaw and the way the light from the brightly lit gray sky played across her pale skin. she had become quite pale, honestly, since her freckles were barely noticeable and not as prominent now. but i could still see them. i could still see her. i could see her clearer now, better than i ever did then. is it possible that i'd matured so much, even being only five months apart from her?

we were only an hour away now. an hour away from the lake house. an hour away from our dreaded goodbye.

every passing second was moving much faster than i had wanted it to. no matter how hard i tried to hold on, i couldn't keep this moment from ending. i couldn't keep us from ending.

but that's how it always goes, isn't it? the good things, the beautiful things, they're always the ones that fall apart and break away the fastest. they always fade away first.

i sat there, driving in silence that technically wasn't really silent at all, with the world outside rushing past in a blur of white and gray. i tried to memorize everything one final time, so that i have something to remember her by—something to see her in even when she's gone. the way the warmth of the heater made her cheeks flush, the way her hand rested in such neat relaxation along the center console between us, the way her fingers splayed out along the leather as if reaching for something that wasn't there anymore.

in the silence, i think. this time, i just thought about august. i thought about how things had been then, how easy it all felt and how simple it all was. i could've sworn we had all the time in the world. but now, with the snow falling in lazy flakes outside, melting as soon as they had touched the windshield, we were running out of time. it's been like that the whole time. it's as though every second we spent had only brought us closer to the end. it's like i could already foresee the moment where i'd have to let go, where i'd have to watch her walk away and pretend that it didn't kill me.