Happy Anniversary!
That's what I should be saying to you as you walk through the door of our small Cali studio apartment we got after graduating and running away together.
Remember how we always used to plan, baby?
We'd be out at the lake, lying on the hood of your car, entangled in each other's arms as we stared at the stars.
Thanks to Neil, you were always sporting either a fresh bruise or a split lip, but you would always look so at peace with me.
You'd kiss my temple and whisper sweet nothings into my ear about everything we'd do together. About all the things you'd show me in California when we got there.
...
You would be holding flowers while sporting the widest smile id ever seen on your typically smug face.
They'd be blue hydrangeas, the ones you always got me after I told you how much I loved them.
What I should have told you was why. They reminded me of your eyes, of how roguishly graceful and beautiful you were.
You were my blue hydrangeas.
...
I should be throwing my arms around your neck and feeling the warmth of your fingers as they wrap around my waist.
It would always amaze me how gentle you were with me.
Not because of how everyone else saw you as some mean-hearted rough, bad boy but because of what came with the soft touches and what they meant coming from you after building concrete walls around your heart.
But you let me in; out of anyone else, you let me see the most vulnerable parts of you.
I cherished you, my love.
...
The world would have melted away as you kissed me so profoundly until it suffocated both of us, leaving swollen lips and flushed faces in its wake.
The passion we had, baby... It was everything.
...
But we never made it to that apartment.
You never brought me flowers.
We never made it.
...
How am I supposed to go on when you're here, buried in the place you hated most by a father who failed you?
...
I lay blue hydrangeas on your grave and trace your name on your tombstone, caressing every curve like it was your skin.
Tears formed in my eyes, streaking my red cheeks from the frigid November air.
"Happy Anniversary, my love."
