AN: this is incredibly short, but I just wanted to write it down. I hope it turned out alright because I spent like 30 minutes on it

"I love you, Jay Gatsby."

He was silent. That was typical of him now. He was always silent, but I could still hear him. Over the course of the months that I had lived next door to his dazzling mansion, he had embedded himself into my mind, so deeply that I knew I would never rid of him. The bright lights, the loud music, it all had stopped. His house was empty, as he had taken full residence in my thoughts. To everyone else, he no longer existed.

I gave him a rose, a single yellow bloom with a long stem. He accepted without a word. That flower alone was more than Daisy had ever given him. Daisy. Often I wondered if she comprehended the weight of the destruction that she had left in her wake. I hadn't spoken to her in weeks. I did not even know where she had gone, and I found that in all honesty, I no longer cared. This was all because of her. All of the tragedy that summer was because of Daisy, and she likely had not even spared a second's thought for me or for Gatsby or for anyone else.

The rose seemed so brilliant in contrast with the ground where I had left it, just as Gatsby had in comparison to everyone else. And like Gatsby, the flower was alone in its brilliance. I only ever brought him one at a time. Sometimes it seemed as though my Saturday routine of purchasing a new rose for him was all that kept me afloat. He never told me, but I could always assume that he liked them.

"I went to the theater today," I said. "You would've loved the film, Jay. I wish you could have accompanied me. It really isn't as much fun going by myself."

A wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and I listened. It was such a peaceful sound. A peaceful sound to complement a beautiful day, one that Gatsby would have made a remark about. I was grateful for the clear skies, as it had been raining the previous Saturday. Of course I had gotten out regardless. Gatsby counted on my visits. I sat down next to him with a sigh, and I tilted my head back to stare up at the slow-drifting clouds. There had been a time when I had felt like them.

"They're beautiful," I commented. I had a feeling Gatsby agreed with me. He saw the beauty in everything, even in someone like Daisy. Even in someone like me. I watched the clouds with him until they began to feel monotonous and my eyes grew glassy from staring, and then I shifted my gaze back to earth, back to Gatsby. I could still see his smile, still hear his voice. The dirt darkened, and I realized that I had begun to cry, my sympathy and grief wetting the ground.

"I miss you."

Gatsby's enchanted view of the green light had manifested itself in me. The bay across which I stared was infinitely more vast, but still I could see that light, that shining ghost that Gatsby had left behind to haunt me. I saw him everywhere, and I could only hope that he could still see me. Sometimes I wondered if he still thought about me. Every now and again I would fear that he would not remember me, so I ensured that I kept up my routine. Gatsby would never forget me so long as I never forgot him. He had vanished from the minds of everyone else, but never from mine. My coat sleeve wiped away the mourning from my face.

"Goodbye, Jay. I'll see you again next Saturday."

He did not answer me.