I realized that I could listen to you breathe and be completely content with the situation. This was clear to me the first time I lost myself in your conversation. We would stay up all night talking, just like we did that night in the car. I wouldn't be able to tell you what we talked about that night but if I was ever unsure about how I felt about you, that night fixed that. You listened to me, not to reply, but to understand. You said my name like it was something worth being stuck between your teeth.
You texted me later that night after I left and apologized, thinking that you got me in trouble, but saying that you couldn't help it because you might not have seen me the next day. That night was officially where it started. That's when I knew that I loved you. That's when there was no longer a doubt in my mind about who I wanted.
Moments like that come back to me in flashes. I remember, when I would think of times like those and I would sit there smiling at times when it seemed like there was no joy in the world. You made me laugh at times I couldn't even find a smile in my heart. I would see something that reminded me of you and my heart would almost beat out of my chest. Every time I kissed you it was like... flying.
When I met you though, the chaos in my mind slowed down. It was nothing like those middle school heart throbs where your brain almost explodes and the thrill sends you into cardiac arrest. I felt calm. It was a calm that I didn't know exactly how to feel, and even if I was feeling it properly. I don't think I could ever forget that.
You were always so compassionate. You would always put others before yourself. Maybe, if you were a little less of a hero you'd still be here and I wouldn't be writing this trying to hold on to my sanity, but you can't be anything but what you are. It's been exactly 64 days since the bomb. 64 days since your big heart broke mine. 64 days since you died. All I have left is Kennedy. Half you... half me. Half of me died when you did though.
Every morning I wake up, and your scent is still trapped like a ghost in the threads of our bed linens, and in those few precious moments between wake and sleep, you're with me. I can almost see your lips part and say, "Good morning". I can almost feel the bed shift under your weight as you pull me closer to your skin. The same skin that I've been infatuated with since the beginning. I can almost hear your heart beat. I must then remind myself that what I'm seeing is not you, it is grief. It's the darkness in my mind playing games with the light, to give my aching heart some peace. Everything in me then aches. I wish it was you. After that I have a cup of coffee because I didn't get any rest. I never get any rest. I have the same nightmare over and over. I relive that terrible night over and over.
Kennedy had just turned six. She had her hair in cornrows. She was wearing that outfit you picked out with the Air Forces that made her look like a dark-skinned version of Cleo from set it off. I hated it, but you said it made her look tough. You refused to let me dress her tonight (even though my taste is impeccable). We were having a night out because I had finally gotten a letter back from that publishing company that I had been waiting on for six months about the novel I submitted. You wouldn't let me open it before we went out because you wanted to "celebrate the effort", which is your way of saying that I am way too hard on myself and there's no need to stay up all night writing what was perfect yesterday. That's the kind of guy you are... were.
You took us to the museum of Renaissance Art. You liked the paintings, I liked the books, and Kennedy just loved the adventure. She was in the middle of asking "Why all the ladies wear them wigs ma?", and out of nowhere the museum went on lockdown and from one moment to the next things just got worse. Kennedy was severely frightened by loud noises, so the alarms were enough to make her burst out in tears.
People around us were beginning to panic, and there was screaming and gunshots down the hall. You were a cop, so I guess you were just doing what cops do. You told us to hide in the broom closet. You kissed me and said that you'd come back. When you came back you brought with you, a woman with long black hair, and a baby girl that couldn't have been more than a year old (whom I will rightfully assume is her daughter). You weren't my Joshua anymore. You belonged to them. You were Officer Warren, not family man Josh that came back to his wife and daughter. You closed the door again and that's when I heard the explosion.
I felt the floor shake beneath my feet and my heart dropped. Kennedy kept asking where you were, between tears and coughing, she was pulling on my dress like she didn't already have all my attention. I remember feeling the tears burn like acid in my eyes, blurring the darkness around me. My chest was tight from the anxiety, and everything went black.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed at Grace Medical. My mind was still foggy, at the time I couldn't recall what happened exactly. I wasn't completely there. I remember seeing my mother in the corner reading to Kennedy she didn't realize I was awake yet. When I met eyes with my mother she put Kennedy down, she came over to the bed and hugged me. I felt a tear from her eye fall to my cheek. Then all at once it hit me. You were gone. In that moment, I felt everything in my world collapse. My chest caved in. My whole body went numb and my breath shallowed. I couldn't cry. "Does she know?", I whispered to my mother with my voice shaking. She shook her head no.
This is all I think about these days. I try to distract myself with work but everything comes back to you. Every book I write, every poem, every word, is you. So, I drink coffee in hopes that my brain moves fast enough to forget how much it hurts that you're not here; but coffee stains white beautifully and what's whiter than a page?
