seasons

13: kairos

Song: Sweet Creature by Harry Styles 

It was May, two years after the accident.

Petals decorated the streets and children bounced about, joyous and naive.

Life wasn't so bad anymore.

I had a steady job as a barista at Midnight Cafe and started classes online for college. 

Nothing was perfect, but it was fine.

I stopped by Cory Roger's grave every other week, never forgetting to place flowers where Caleb laid as well.

I saw Cory's daughter, giggling in the arms of the new parents in town that couldn't conceive. 

She looked as happy as I longed to feel.

I had cut my hair, letting go of the past and trying, desperately trying, to move on to the future.

As each curl fell against the tile of the barber shop's floor, I felt a fraction lighter.

The day Sicily woke up was the day I got my second tattoo.

The delicate curve of the "S" bit my ankle and its deep black ink stood out against the tan of my skin.

It was tiny, almost invisible, but it burned dull a sensation of longing through my body like a single line of fire.

I was on my way to the hospital, prepared to let go.

Prepared to give up.

Prepared to kiss my lover and best friend one last time.

I had been waiting for so long.

I had been so alone and so, so sad.

But I needed to move on.

I had a facade of conviction pumping through my veins; adrenaline, sorrow and fifteen cups of espresso shook every fiber of my being.

I brought flowers, lilacs I thought she'd never see, and my sorrows bundled in a little ball of lined paper.

I was holding her hand, ready but unwilling to finally let go.

Preparing to take the final glance, I kissed the freckles on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, placing the longest against the curve of her sleeping lips.

I jerked back as her lips pressed faintly against mine, teasing my startled mind.

Her eyes fluttered open, beautifully dazed under a bed of thick lashes.

The yellow of her eyes stared into the depths of my own sea colored ones.

Her hair pooled like a fresh layer of powdered snow.

I kissed her again, more passionately, yet she failed to return the kiss with the same enthusiasm.

I leaned back, hurt, and curious.

"B-babe, w-what's wrong, "I stuttered out, "what hurts? I'll call the doctor immediately, I-I know I should've right away I was just so caught up in the moment; like, wow, you're really awak-."

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, in that small, raspy voice of hers, "but...um...who are you?"

My heart faltered and my stomach twisted. 

I hadn't even thought about that.

She had a fucking head injury.

Of course.

Of course, she would forget.

I took a deep breath and called the doctor in, leaving the suddenly too cramped and uncomfortable white room.