The old me was young, only 15. Love was her drug and she overdosed on it every day, it was a miracle she didn’t perish.
John – perfection.
He didn’t have much, but he always told me that he had me – and that was everything he needed. I never expected a rose garden from him. He was more than enough.
I was running late that day, but he insisted that we meet, even if it was for an hour. He was to leave town for two weeks, so those minutes were precious to us.
I tried to apologise for being late, but he wouldn’t let me. He said being in my presence for even the slightest minute, was like an eternity in heaven for him. My life was a movie –a blockbuster.
I loved him.
He said to me that day : ” In every moment, something happens for the last time so we should cherish every little thing.”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small key.
“The key to my heart, ” he said, “It’s yours. Only yours.”
I loved it.
He sang our song as we danced in the old park. He held me so close that if he held me any closer, we would’ve melted. Our lips met and the world seemed to begin again. A time that was innocent. I cherished those moments.
Thank the stars that I did, because that was the last time.
The last I felt his kiss on my lips.
The last time he embraced me.
It was the last time I saw him.
He left that night. The days dragged like tired sloths. I knew my calls wouldn’t go through but I called anyway and listened to his voice mail message. I replayed every voice note and reread every message he ever sent me. I felt myself falling in love with him twice over. I was high on this amphetamine.
Nine days finally turned into two weeks, which turned into seventeen days, and later to three weeks.
My world had gone silent. After 89 calls, the phone was finally answered. “He’s gone, ” said the voice on the line, “there was an accident …”
Everything else faded from existence. Those words rang in my ears, they broke my universe. The sun was extinguished from my sky, and I was left in the dark.
I kept waiting for director of life – of my movie – to yell : “Cut! From the top,” or to change this ending entirely. He didn’t. The first person I loved was the first person I lost.
I walk through the garden now, petrichor drowns the air. The sky pours and I accompany her – an orchestra of sorrow. It’s been 1283 days since he died. I kneel by his stone, laying the blue hydrangeas – his favourite – down on his grave. I sing to him. Our song. I can feel him singing and dancing around me – like we did that day. Those final memories with him, they were heavenly. I got to say good bye : that dance, that kiss and this key. This key I wear around my neck every day, it’s all for him. My first trip to Venus, land of love. Such a foreign place but with him, I was at home. Other than the memories that dance in the ballroom of my mind, this key is the only thing I have left of him. My world.
I LOVE YOU THE FIRST TIME.
I LOVE YOU THE LAST TIME.
I LOVE YOU FOREVER.