Endless Love

I know you are lying in there. I can smell you through the wall. I miss you.

The house has been cold and clammy since the day we went apart and the dust is now covering the floor in a fine layer like moss on the meadow outside your window; the meadow we used to dance upon effortlessly and carelessly under blue skies in the month of august, when the calendar would soon bury summer but our love was as alive as ever. What my memory keeps clearest is your thin, white summer dress that did not make an honest effort of trying to conceal the bodily curves I eventually would discover after I tripped headlong down your well. Your smiling, green eyes penetrated my fragile being. Your small fingers gently brushed my skin like the wind upon the fields. Your soft hips against mine; your soft breasts against my hungry bones; your soft lips against my congealed, fleshy cracks.

I still kiss you once in a while, when you are sleeping, but I cannot allow myself to touch you, in fear of ruining the last of what I have left of you. I have considered ending it all. This thought has been coming to me more and more lately, while your natural odour seems to be crawling further and further up my nostrils. Your perfume was perhaps the first thing that made me lose my balance, as you walked past me in the doorway to what would eventually become our place and would remain - until. Neither one of us leaves the house any longer nor has any door been opened or closed in a long time. Occasionally a window sweeps open in the middle of the night and fertilizes the nausea reigning in here. For that, I am sorry. Like I am sorry about so much else. There are things I have done which I will always regret, like I am sure there are things that will forever blur your mind. But the sudden swing of light bulbs in front of us was not our fault – that is why we are both able to stay in the house still. That is the only thing I am grateful of.

I am not sure I can go on like this much longer. I am not sure it is worth it, but then again, I am not even sure that it is in my power to change anything. I am waiting, waiting every night for you; waiting for the moment when it is you, not I, opening the door slowly, soundlessly on a starry night, approaching the paralyzed body that is me. Though seemingly fossilized I will certainly be both aware and ready – it is, after all, our old bed I am lying in.

I understood completely that you had to move into the guestroom. The first nights after we got back to the house, were full of haunting, abrupt awakenings, sweat under the sheets, blinding, rapidly approaching flashlights in the ceiling and adrenalin in the blood. After a short while, you could not bear another night in that bed, so you left me lying here alone; although I only lie here, when I know that you are lying in there behind the thin wall where you now as often as not cry yourself to sleep. A rare occasion of joy to me, this is, as it has gradually become the only human articulate evidence of you still being alive.

No longer do you sit in our couch; no longer do you play on our piano. You are floating around aimlessly and lifelessly among the things that were supposed to symbolize our future. Touching nothing – hardly sensing anything with tired, falling eyelashes. I have seen you several times looking through me at the block with kitchen knives placed blacked out in the corner of the table. Where is the desire? We had so much desire; we were going so many places. We were speeding life’s highway not ever thinking of slowing down. We never thought it necessary. We ruled our lives and we ruled the night, but ultimately the night possessed our lives.

Now I hear you move around in your bed – are you revisiting that night? No - there are feet on the floor, you are moving away from the bed, out into the living room. You are moving toward my door. The door opens and I look straight into those empty eyes, while they are staring at me decisively, like they are staring at your own bed; through the wall; through me. You are moving toward the bed now, to me, and you lie down beside me. Still beautiful, though the spark in your eyes has gone out long ago. You are wearing that same black dress you were wearing the night a part of me left you and this sets my mind at ease, though my spirit is raving. Now it will finally happen, we will both be free, you will lead us out of this vacuum – how I have been waiting for this moment of fusion for so very long.

We could lie here forever, you and I. I have been missing this - the feeling of forever. Endlessness. But I can sense in you that it is time for us to go. The steel is blinding my eyes – a rare thing I did not think possible for me to experience anymore. You look peaceful once again, not vivid, but satisfied. The knife is now raised higher into the air above us; it is twisting and turning in your hand for a short while, estimating, then with a sudden fall it all ends. Finally, finally you are here with me.