a n i m a

turning page

"i surrender who i've been for who you are
for nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart."

He was average.

He made cheesy jokes and held the door open for those who passed. He smiled when his friends made stupid jokes and he hugged them when they cried. He could only cook sticky mac 'n' cheese and his apartment wasn't nearly large enough to impress. His job was steady and unexciting but he always sang karaoke at the office parties. He called his mom often and made sure to make his father proud. He played piano but only sang soft enough for himself to hear. He was quiet and sometimes a little too thoughtful. He made mistakes and apologized and lived and loved.

He spent his time thinking about her. Picking her up from work to take her for walks and leaving roses on her desk. He read to her late at night and he couldn't seem to resist kissing her neck. When they rode the train, he'd reach over and play with her fingers. He'd brush her hair from her eyes and whisper that she was beautiful.

He was average, and she loved him.

She didn't mind that sometimes the bills piled up or that he forgot to do the dishes. She didn't mind that he didn't always understand what she was feeling and she didn't mind that he woke her up from yelling at hockey games.

She loved the way the stubble on his chin tickled her cheeks and the way his hands always seemed to be warm. She loved that he kissed away her tears and supported her in wild antics. She loved that he told her how much he loved her, every single day. She loved that he was average and kind and that he had the biggest heart out of anyone she'd ever met and that he never gave up on her.

Sometimes she got a little too angry when he said the wrong thing. And sometimes she ragged on his music taste. Sometimes she stormed out and ran back without apologizing. Sometimes she forgot how special he was, and she'd run into his arms and give him an extra kiss, just for being him. She made mistakes too, and they both loved that they never judged each other for them.

Sometimes they fought and sometimes they cried. But there was never a pair that loved each other so strongly through it all.

It was the summer of 2003 that things changed.

She was out and he was at home, doing paperwork and listening to classical music. It was getting late and she still wasn't home, but his eyes were occupied and therefore not once did they glance at the clock.

Afternoon became night and night became morning and he awoke in a pile of papers and the record was skipping. There was a knock at the door and he laughed because he knew that she had gone to get a paper and forgotten her keys. So he skipped to the door, his heart beating because he so badly ached for her touch.

But it wasn't her. It was a police officer, his expression cold and his irises swimming with sympathy. The officer only uttered a sentence. So soft and tight that he almost lost them. But once they were captured, he wanted nothing but to throw them back.

They were lies. Lies. She couldn't be dead. She had just gone down to get a paper. That was it. She would come bouncing up those steps any minute and the officer would see. He would realized he'd made a mistake.

So he waited, his breaths labored and his chest hollow until he saw her smile. Only then would it be full. But the seconds ticked by and the stairs were still empty and the officer gave an apology.

The officer left and he kept waiting in the empty doorway, his chest aching for the breath of life that was her. He swallowed and walked back into their home. He sat atop the papers and stared across the room to the pictures lining their walls.

Their dates. Their kisses. Their love. Their life.

It was over.

He seemed to be heaving, trying with trembling fingers to grasp onto something that would make any of it easier. He said her name. Over and over, he called out to her. He told her he loved her and that he needed her. He begged and cried and sobbed and pleaded, his forehead against the rug and his fists beating into the ground. He asked her to come back, for this all to be a nightmare.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but it was no use. She wasn't coming back. He was alone.

He felt it then. That emptiness. It grew and grew until his chest was nothing but a barren cave that had once held purpose.

He waited to die. To meet her at the golden gates or for a beam of light. Something. Anything. Because he knew that no one, especially not someone like him, could survive such pain. He choked and screamed and again he waited.

But everything he waited for never seemed to come.

It's been ten years. And yes, things changed, but not the love they shared. Not the 'I love you's and the roses. She was gone but he would never let her go.

He was still average and he still spent his time thinking of her. He still went to work and called his parents and laughed at his friend's stupid jokes. But it was so different now.

He was alone. He couldn't hold her or kiss her and hear her laugh. He couldn't feel her fingers and tickle her cheeks with his scruff. He could only remember and try to hold onto those memories with everything in him.

But even with her memory, he felt sorrow. And so, late at night when his work was done and the side of her bed held nothing but a ghost, he would beg for an ending. For the end of his life because his life had been her. But then his tears would let up, just as the light shone in through his curtains. He became warm and silent and he liked to think that it was her. That the light was the angel of a love not lost.

He liked to think that he could live on, knowing that a glimpse of her was better than an eternity of not knowing her at all.

And so he basked in the light and closed his eyes and he felt her. He felt her hair and her hands and he heard her laugh. He saw her blush and felt her lips against his. She whispered in his ear and he grabbed onto her wisps of breath and lived.

For her.

this is dedicated to my mom; she always wanted someone to love her like this and even though she thought she didn't deserve it, she did.

and so I think that with a dedication to my momma is a good way to end this little collection. thank you to everyone who has ever read it, ily. shout out to @reneqade (fred) and @_silentshadow_ for being the best commenters in the world c: I love you guys