#4: "please come back."
inspired by mr loverman by rick montgomery.
CW: deals with grieving
=========================
"you know, this story is really stupid," i laughed.
"but i think you'd really like it. it's those, you know, cliché romance things that you adore."
i closed the book i was holding, setting it down on my lap.
i looked at the other books piled around. crazy rich asians by kevin kwan. a love hate thing by whitney d. grandison. all the books i've ever read were placed around. dust was starting form on top of them, so i swept it off.
the colour of the book covers had faded slightly, so i hope she doesn't mind. well, i guess she won't. so long as there's someone who'd read to her. me.
i sat back down, sighing. it was so quiet. wind blowing so softly, blowing the leaves around ever so slightly. i closed my eyes. peace.
it's been, what, 2 years? i miss her stupid smile. her pinkness. her dumb jokes that never fail to make me laugh. i miss the days where she'd rest on my lap, as i read my book under the tree. our tree. we planted it together when we were kids, and it became our hang out spot.
we watched as it grew, from a tiny sapling to the sturdy structure it is now. oh how i always looked forward to our weekly picnic sessions under the shade. pushing each other on the tire swing. sleeping the day away next to each other, under the comfort the tree provided us.
but now it's just me, myself and i.
today's the 2nd year i'm without her. why, why'd she have to be the one to go? why did she have to contract that stupid illness. why did she have to leave me.
the only thing i could do now was read under the tree. next to her gravestone, which was adorned with different types of flowers. roses, chrysanthemums, lilies. any flower possible. i'd place them all around. my books, too, were arranged haphazardly. i'd visit her grave as often as i could, reading the day away.
maybe it was to distract myself, or maybe it was a way for me to push my feelings aside. every time i visit her grave i'd be smiling, as if it didn't hurt at all.
i miss her. i really do.
the week after her death, after her funeral, i tried to forget. i stopped visiting the tree. i stored away all of our pictures, all of the precious things she gave me. i buried them deep in the corner of my mind.
but one fateful night, when i was drunk and alone, i found myself at her grave. i was sobbing. i was on my knees, begging for her to come back. crying about how i should've told her how i felt, how much she meant to me. when i woke up the next day, i found myself laying next to her headstone, clutching a photo of us.
from that day on, i gave up forgetting. i wanted to remember everything. the happy times, the sad times, everything. so i picked up reading again. i learnt how to make flower crowns. i started having picnics under the tree again.
everything was back to normal, though there was always something missing. her presence. i told jokes as if she were there, and i'd expect her laughter to fill the air. but i was always met with silence. i read out loud, expecting a snarky reply in return. nothing.
mina... i miss you dearly.
mina... won't you come back?
ashido... i love you.
- fin -