kiwi || h.s [edited]

Chapter Eighteen

My dearest Andrew

The crater that had tore through my life when you were taken from me had felt so final and so unending that I had convinced myself the only way to survive was to make a home in the darkness. I remember so vividly how nothing in life seemed with doing anymore. No amount of coaxing or convincing could lead me to the shower or bring a single crumb to my lips. A veil of grief swallowing any inclination other than to lay in your clothes. I had convinced myself that if I could just hear your voice one more time, I would be okay. And so I called you every second I could mange to hit that that green button, hopefully waiting for you voicemail to ring through.

I still remember it verbatim, how you always sounded so at ease is incredible. And entirely enviable. It started so casual; "hey it's Andrew, sorry I couldn't get to the phone in time. You can leave a message but I'll probably forget to get back to you unless it's Amelia. I'll call you right back, baby.". How I had gotten so lucky to be loved by a man whose entire existence was about those he loved - I will never question.

I probably laid there replaying your voice and every video I had until I dug myself a deeper whole. It was like a mercurial high. The build up and temporary peace that came whenever I heard the joy that bounced upon your every word. I remember wanting to so desperately for the room to just devour me. I couldn't shake the idea that I should have screamed I loved you so many more times than I had whispered against your skin. And with a despair so utterly cataclysmic, I decided that I would never be able step foot in New York again, much less our small apartment.

A vile spillage of anger boiled in my stomach when I saw that our apartment building was under construction. How could someone tear down something so sacred and divine? I had convinced the manager to just give me a couple hours in our only home. One of the few remaining parts that had not been shredded. I'm writing this on the wooden floors that used to creak so loud when you spun me around like a ballerina. I had never considered something that was so frightfully ours could be covered in such a dense layer of dust and grime. Our bedroom doesn't smell like vanilla and your cologne anymore. I remember how I couldn't sleep because there was no one to switch off the goddamn light or the tv. I remember the cold breeze the washed over me night after night and how I wished I could hear you complain about how I was secretly a vampire.

I bumped into Maggie. She's still our sweet Magnolia. A little older. But just as exciting. I missed her. A lot. We ended up at her place, talking and laughing and maybe crying far too much. But I enjoyed it immensely. More than I've enjoyed anything these past two years had thrown me. In between the good I couldn't shake the reality that New York, our New York, was no longer for me. It had been such a warm and honest accommodator but I had outgrown it. I will always love it but I know now, it's no longer my home. And now I'm suddenly realising I don't have a home.

They had warned me, all the books and songs, that good things come to an end. Even Newton knew that but I never thought it included us. We had designed such a fragile and divine thing, how could I think something so beautiful could end with such calamity. A few weeks ago, I would have given up everything to have you.

Have you here

Breathing

Living

And as much as I feel like I'm missing more of myself than another human being, my sorrow has burned the life that once saturated me. And as I look around this old walls. Walls invisibly tattooed with the story of us. Of our love. A story for no one to admire except the stars. I have to appreciate it for what it was and understand that clutching so tightly to this faded delirium that it hasn't ended is smothering me. I have explored every crevice of my heart, trying to unearth you but I don't want to. I want you to linger within me freely and openly. I don't want to cage and hide what we had just because it had ended. You made me more myself than I had ever been and I will not sacrifice the exceptional just to spite the bad.

I met someone. It feels odd to admit that to you. But I think you'd like him. He's really pretty, you know. Like my-blood-pressure-dropped-the-first-time-i-saw-him kind of pretty. I don't know what I feel yet but whatever it is, it feels good and I'm curious to explore it.

So as much as I am here to reminisce you and sit in a bittersweet nostalgia, this is not just about you. This homecoming is about me. It is for me. I can see the glimmer of a future in the distance. But you deserve a poetic conclusion. And although there's nothing poetic in the way we ended, you deserve a few pretentious and enamoured words.

I love you endlessly even in your death and I'll continue to celebrate you forevermore.

Amellia