Failures

Breaking Up

He was silent, for a second. Like snowfall.

If any of us spoke, the fragile bridge between us would crackle with ice and frost; it would grow colder and colder till the structure couldn't take it anymore and shattered. The pieces would fly back and embed themselves in my heart and in my temple. The mention of his name would give me frostbite; the sound of his laugh would give me brain freeze.

So no, neither of us could speak. Our fragile little bridge flourished with black roses and butter daisies. It would break my heart to send them a winter.

My bad little boy sighed loudly, and his breath left his lips like cigarette smoke.

"This- this isn't working out."

I didn't say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, shriveled inky petals floated to the ground; and I knew. He had given us up.

"We could have never made this work."

I reached out and took his hand in my mine. Strange-his palms were warm and slightly sweaty, but the rest of him was freezing. 

"You can't fix me, so please stop trying."

"I'll come visit you," I whispered. My gaze stayed trained on the snowfall, just over his shoulder.

His voice dropped to mimic mine.

"No," he smiled weakly. "Baby- you have to forget me."

Forget him? Forget him? I don't think, even in a million years, would I ever forget him. Our photos on my wall would bend and curl as they succumbed to old age, but I would never have the strength to take them down. His leather jacket would hang limply in the back of my closet long after it stopped smelling like him. The tiny tattoo he had convinced me to get- 'nothing outrageous baby, have fun and take a risk'  could never be wiped off. He wasn't the kind of person that fades from life: he was watercolors melting down a canvas. Even after the paper dries, a faint hint of color calls.

"Then let me remember," My voice echoed loudly. "Once last time."

I grabbed his chin and kissed him- hard enough that my lips would turn blue with hypothermia. I drank from his lips the memories- stars in his eyes and falling from the sky as we ran through a parking lot. Breaking Bad and Teen Wolf marathons soaking up Saturday afternoon. His eyes crossed to glare at the streak of flour I had flung at his nose. Nudging him with my hip to grab a can of soup from the store aisle. Wrapped in sweaters and scarves and his arms as I complained loudly to him about the butchering of The Lightning Theif movie. French silk pie at seven in the morning and screaming rock concerts, finding him choking in a cloud of actual cigarette smoke, and then the fight that lasted a week afterward. Butterfly kisses and gentle pecks on shoulders and fingertips. I would miss it all.

I pull away first, and there are tears in his eye. The handcuffs snap, he turns his back, and I watch him clamber into the back of the squad car. The doors close and he turns his head to look back at me, but I am already walking away. 

Through the cracks of the sidewalk, I see butter daises peeking through. It's new, it's shy, it's hope-

It's Spring.