Look Up At The Sky

CW: themes of mental health, substance abuse, grief and suicidal thoughts.

***

There were colours when you were here.

They were everywhere I looked

Crimson,

Tangerine

Lemon

Lime

Azure

Plum

and many, many more.

Life

was so much more vivid

when you were here.

***

There were so many things

to love about being alive

way back when the stars

could be seen through the fog.

You’d often take me to

art museums and galleries,

showing me every piece

and telling me about all the

different styles and artists.

I said I liked the

Art Nouveau

and, while you agreed,

you said that you liked the

Baroque sculptures.

***

We had a plan.

We were going to visit one place in

every country in the world,

get a postcard,

take a picture in front of our favourite building,

and make one wish

over and over till it came true.

We were going to travel the world

together.

And the best part was that we would have

each other.

Someone to rely on in times of need.

But now I sit in silence,

in a cramped studio flat,

alone,

watching as the world moves on

and

my bottle slowly empties.

***

Even though,

there are about a million pictures,

I am starting to forget you.

Maybe it’s the bottle.

Maybe it’s the grief.

Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t really slept.

But I can’t remember your voice.

I look at the pictures and try to remember your

golden sunkissed skin,

glowing in the morning rays,

eyes squinting shut in a joyous smile,

I can barely make out

the sliver of hazel

behind those thick dark lashes.

Your hair always looked like

molten lava when

the sun graced us with its presence.

I stare at this beauty everyday

and ask the same question:

Where did you go?

everyday,

I am offered the same answer in return:

Six feet deep below your feet.

***

I kiss you good night

everytime

and greet you with a good morning.

Everytime,

I never expect a response

but it helps.

***

The glass shatters

against the hardwood floor of my flat.

I curse under my breath

because I could’ve sworn

that I saw your reflection in the mirror.

I move to clean up the glass

but I can’t see straight anymore

and I fall down.

The pain in my hands is

the only thing I can feel,

so I focus on that.

Because everything else is

just so numb.

***

I used to watch the stars with you

all night long.

We’d sit and tell tales

about the

constellations and

the bright lights

that gave us hope in the dark.

We’d sit on the roof of the building

and we’d try to count all of

the twinkling polka dots in

the inky indigo sky.

Now I can hardly see them

through all this damn fog.

***

City lights block

the stars

and now I can only see

the faint glow of the moon.

The city blocks out too much beauty.

I think I need to move

to a place with

no lights

and no people

only souls

who know what it’s like to loose

the stars

and the moon.

But I don’t want to leave.

This was our flat.

Our studio flat where there was love

and only love.

Drink another bottle,

Smoke another cigarette,

Close my eyes and drown.

I think I need to end this cycle.

I think I need to jump off this roof.

***

I had an odd thought yesterday.

I was thinking of you,

and thinking of you

comes with a price.

A high hospital bill I’ll never be able to pay.

A costly funeral expense for

a darkwood coffin

lined with crushed phthalocyanine blue velvet

and smooth viridian green silk,

placed in a grave underneath

a cypress tree and

a wreath of carnations.

***

Yesterday, I wondered

what it would be like to

live in a coffin like yours,

darling,

deep underground.

Wondered what it would be like

to live under the earth

where the worms tunnel

where the seeds start to sprout

where the bodies lie still.

I start to wonder

and it always ends the same.

You are gone,

I am not.

You’re now only a seed

in need

of a water spout.

***

Today is the anniversary

of our time together.

January 1st was the day we met

February 14th was the day we kissed

March 22nd was the day we had our first trip.

and you took all April to learn a crash course

on cooking just so that, on

May 31st, you could make me my favourite meal

on my birthday.

June 2nd was our next trip,

lasting three weeks, and in

August, we relaxed. While in

September, we went to Madrid and then Rome in

October.

But November.

I can’t get past November.

11/13/19

Your birthday.

I made you breakfast in bed,

the whole day was full of art museums

and a music show from

your own personal guitarist.

I did all of that for your birthday,

promising a good night at home too…

And do you know what the world gave you?

***

Cancer.

It gave you its worst sickness

and then bid us adieu.

It consumed us,

leaving you bedridden over night,

leaving me to pay for things we couldn’t afford.

It threw it all in our faces and laughed.

Watched with amusement

as I tried to sing away your sickness.

It gave you its most fast working cancer

and wouldn’t listen to you when you prayed.

November was the month in which

the world should have ended.

It should’ve stood still

and waited for us,

let you recover,

but instead,

It found humor in me

helplessly play the guitar,

trying to strum away your pain.

It found amusement in

watching your life drain out of your

beautiful

bright

beguiling

hazel eyes.

***

It got the final laugh

when one day,

I woke up to silence.

The halls echoed with its taunts

as I found your heart rate monitor had

flatlined.

That was the day you died.

December 24th was the day of your funeral.

The 25th was the day

I picked up that bottle,

wishing it to never empty.

Wishing the bottle would never

ever

ever end.

***

For six long agonizing years,

I tried to bury myself.

I tried to hide myself from the world.

I wanted to drink until my bottle ran out.

But then…

Just like that…

It was January 1st again.

Snow covers the streets.

People wish others a good year.

Everything was very merry.

Save for the cemetery.

That looked cold.

And lonely.

And depressing.

I placed the wreath of carnations on your grave,

sitting on the wet ground underneath

the cypress tree and

drank my never-ending bottle.

“Here’s to another meaningless year without you,

Beloved. Here’s to hoping I die too.”

***

This year was a blur,

but one thing was for sure:

I am going to die and when I do, I’ll embrace it like

a welcomed friend.

I raise my bottle and cheer.

Tonight,

I’m going to walk along the train tracks.

Maybe the rushing train will be too close.

Maybe…

Maybe…

Here it comes

Here the train comes.

I can hear it roaring.

I can feel the ground start to shake.

Closing my eyes,

I step onto the tracks, holding my arms

outstretched, like I am embracing a friend.

No.

My sweetheart. Open your eyes. Please look up

to the sky!

That voice…

I look heavenwards and open my eyes.

Gasping, my eyes widen and hope fills my heart.

Beloved, I see the stars.

There is no fog.

There are only stars and stars and stars.

The train’s headlights blare into me.

I wait.

waiting waiting waiting

then I duck out of the way as the metal beast roars past.

As I lay in the wet snowy grass,

cold December air blowing right through me,

I see the stars.

The ones I haven’t seen for six years.

I forget that you aren’t gone, beloved.

You’re right here.

***

December 24th rolls around.

This time, I didn't put a wreath of carnations.

I put wild peonies.

***

December 25th passes in a flash for most,

but for me~

it goes by slowly.

This time, I didn’t spend it at the pub.

I spent it at home,

with no bottle in my hand.

***

I’m going to live for me.

I’m going to live for us.

I’m going to make you proud, Beloved.

I hope I’ll see you in heaven.