twenty-two

Bella POV

Our happily ever after came in a dream.

It came under the buzz of a parking lot street lamp, metal pole cool and firm against my back. The night was dark, dense. I felt its heartbeat, its thousands of flickering stars. I counted the bright yellow parallel lines, those scars in the pavement, one after another after another. Never-ending, dangerously permanent. In the distance, people milled about, crossing each other on the sidewalk. It began to rain, lighter, then heavier. Civilians ducked beneath the awnings, clearing the line of fire. I see you then, and again, and again.

It came on a fishing boat at sunset. Charlie used to own it, you see. I sat in the rocking bow, waves lapping against the shore, counting my blessing as the sun kissed the horizon. The trees crouched and blew softly, burnt pine needles falling in the breeze. From afar, the rocky beach was one smooth blanket of cool gray. The gentle sway of the boat, a dance. White crests atop a distant wave. I am alone in this universe. As the shadows dipped long and cool, and Charlie pulled the anchor up from the deep sea, I see you then, and again, and again.

It came in an early morning when I finally moved out east. The air was bitter, angry. The sun, distant in the sky, brought no warmth. Unobtainable. My breath exhaled in gasps, the front door handle escaping beneath a gloved hand. I climbed those stairs—that mountain—desperately. Another day, blending smoothly into yesterday, dripping into tomorrow. In my bedroom, sheer curtains hung stagnant. I glanced at the skyline. The glass fogged and my finger traced an imagined pattern. From that high up, down below, I see you then, and again, and again.

It came in the darkness, in the shadows, in a fleeting, wayward glance. Turn the lights out and I'd see you then, and again, and again.

It came in the face of another man, a boy. Younger. In the way he treated me, like papier-mâché. Like any moment I would dwindle away, pieces of me left in only traces upon his fingertips. He cooked me dinner and sometimes breakfast. He always held the door. He had a dimple in his cheek, one not both. A smooth, clean groove. And in the night, with his arm draped around me, a caress and a carcass, I would see you then, and again, and again.

It came on a nearly empty subway. Late, bordering on early. My fingers gripped the plastic. I imagined myself as others would see me-faceless, ageless. I bit a bloodied lip. In one corner, a man clutched a worn book, its pages frayed and torn. He curved its spine in one large palm, tattoo on his knuckle. In another, a woman sat on her cell phone, staring intently at its screen, her face cast in glow. She furrowed her brow. Two girls, their hair once pristine, sat in knots in the corner, fingernails chipped but stilettos tall. I shrank into myself, an apology. The train pulled away from the station and as it gained speed, turning the outside yellow into a forgiving blur, I saw you then, and again, and again.

It came when I would least expect it.

It came when I already knew you were there.

It came in the face of an unexpected spring.

It came in the cracks of ice during a drawn-out winter.

It came on a long, winding drive through the trees.

It came the moment I crashed into murky green water, swimming to the surface with feigned ease.

It came and then it would leave, so abruptly I would forget who I was, just for that one moment. It left me bare, bleeding. My heart stopped. Hesitated. And then the cool air would clear my aching lungs and I would move again, live again, be again. I learned how.

But sometimes, still, it comes. When I'm in a crowded room. When everyone is talking but me. When I'm staring straight ahead, locked in place. I'll be thinking of a thousand things and then I'll pause, I'll wait. I'll turn and glance away. And I will see you then, again, and again, and again.

for E

this is the end

thank you so much for reading, thank you for all that you are