Someone Like You

At summer eve, when Heaven’s ethereal bow

Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,

Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?

Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear

More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?

‘Tis distance lends enchantment to the view

And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

-Thomas Campbell

The cold spring air hung in shrouds over the dark expanse of earth. When a blue wind flew in, the tips of flower petals curled in resignation. All was silent, solemn… sad. The sun had hid in the blankets of clouds. Whenever a person left their house they kept their head down in shame. Simply absorbing the poisonous funk of the dark sadness that prowled the land made one recall their dearest sins as the memories cascaded. The landscape reminded of how cold the world could be. And as each flower curled, each person looked down.

Lucinthe sat in the groove of the windowsill of a decrepit townhome. She held a cup of coffee and a notepad and pen. The bitter fluid seemed to anchor her to the world of consciousness like a shell at the bottom of the sea… barely worth hanging on to. It’s nice today, she wrote. There’s a little more light than usual. Not like there’s ever really any. The flowers look like they’re getting the life sucked out of them. I bet… scratch. Cross out. Start again. Do you remember what it was like two months ago? Oh, I loved those roses. I feel like they were two doors down… I don’t know. Well, middle age. Can’t help it. How are you doing? A breeze ominously rose from the opposite corner of the room where she sat. She got up and poked her head out to find the door wide open. 

As she went to shut it, it clunked against something beside it. There was a rotting bouquet next to her foot. Silly she hadn’t noticed it sooner. It looked about two years old, but it felt much younger. Lucinthe, like everyone on rainy days like those, pushed it aside without care and walked back to her windowsill.

I… Well, I don’t exactly know how to put this. A cat rubbed up against her leg as it dangled from the edge of the sill. Was it hers? She couldn’t remember any more. In a game of hide-and-seek with the pain, she looked out the window. 

Scarves of clunky mist hung in circular borders around the bordering yards. The clouds seemed to be running as far as they could, taking the sun with them. Time blurred all lines within. Lucinthe couldn’t quite place the actions of any of the past months or even the insignificant routines of years before. There was a bag packed with memories that persisted through the murk of monotony.

Lucinthe had thought about leaving the suburbs. It had been before, when she felt nothing held her there. Tears had streamed in frigid rivers down her face and neck and chest… and she suddenly felt a great hate for the place she lived. Who would’ve known how bittersweet it would taste when she left her house, bags packed and eyes swollen? The next day, in grief, she was back and sobbing. Though she felt hatred for it, the town kept the only piece of her soul she had left… her memories of the days past. They were so far away, so unreachable, but they were all she could cling to.

“‘Milo! Come on, let’s go!’ Lucinthe shouted to the top floor. She was laughing and bouncing on the balls of her feet, waiting for him.

“Here I am.” There he stood at the top of the staircase. She went and pulled him down the stairs with a giggle as she picked up her bags.” They had been happy, once upon a time. The world had been bright and kind as they were, and they had been happy. 

Like photographs in an album, the poor girl remembered the times of happiness, however fleeting and insignificant in the face of the sad.

With a tug of her heartstrings, she was in the living room, then beautiful to look upon, and the two people sitting on the couch. Their arms were around each other as they laughed at the movie playing on the screen.

“Milo… I-I’m here, Milo!” Lucinthe pulled at the mirage, the picture of days gone by, and as it unraveled in her mind she fell to the floor. A great furious paroxysm of sadness overcame here and she lay resigned. 

As she made her way to her feet again, the flowers outside trembled. One had fallen to the ground, shriveled by something deeper than wind and tempestuous rain. The petals were cold and discarded in the mist, and seeing it made Lucinthe sob harder. She wanted to go to it, to comfort it, to help it grow again… even if she knew it was useless. She rushed to the cold, forsaken ground and held it up with a shaking hand. 

“I’m here. You’re not alone.” With heaving sobs, Lucinthe sat in the light of her despair with the flower. Its stem was a sickly green, no longer filled with the love and joy of youth. With a final weep, it fell to the ground. 

Lucinthe didn’t know for what reason she cared for the insignificant plant. It seemed to be nature’s mirror held up in frightening vitality and truth to her face. She went back inside and sat back at the windowsill, shoving her feelings deeper down.

I miss you. I can’t live without you here… Every night I cry, did you know that? I cry because you’re not there next to me. Why aren’t you there, Milo? Can you come back? No… don’t beg, she thought. He won’t come back, he won’t… but maybe? No. Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead. He won’t come back. 

Tears, ones she had held so deep within in the past months, sprung through the walls of pain she had built. They broke like daggers through her eyes and hurt as they fell. 

Don’t forget me.