you.

I think about you.
I think about you a lot.
So much so, I think my head might overflow.
Memories spilling from my ears, nose, mouth, eyes. Everywhere. Seeping from my skin.
As they did when you died.
I remember that day. Every action, every word, in verbatim. The months leading up to it as well.
In fact I remember all the time we spent together, all those years.

But in a way, I remember none of it. I remember in that blurry, fading way that memories come in. Moments are hazy, and I realize with a slow panic, that your face is also gradually disappearing from my mind.
Bit by bit, as the years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds go by, a piece of you dissolves.
I try to keep you alive in my head. I pick one memory of a time spent with you, and try to recall every detail of it.

My favourite memory of you. The one I want to replay in my head over and over and over so I never forget. The one I think about most often.

That night we walked down Main Street, our shoulders touching, pushing against each other. A gentle rain made the streets and buildings shine with the soft golden light of the street lamps. We strolled down the sidewalk, admiring the houses and trees that looked so different in the day. Their true, obscure beauty only showing itself in the black of night. Your words froze in the air as you spoke of your day. I watched you intently, the way your mouth moved, the way your eyes seemed to reflect any light that hit them, the way your face was illuminated so that I could see every peculiarity. You looked at me, I could see myself in your eyes. You asked if I was listening, a smile dancing on your lips.

But where were we headed?
Why were we there?
These things I cannot remember.

That happens a lot.
The little things that I forget, they haunt me. Why can't I recall them? Are they unimportant? Are they meant to be forgotten?
These things that seem so insignificant at the time, I never would have imagined that I would want to hold on to them so desperately. That I would want to seek comfort in them.
Alas, they are gone from my mind.
---

When you told me you were going to die, I didn't believe you. I didn't want to believe you. The thought of losing you, you who is most precious to me, you who is my only escape from this world, was unfathomable to me. However, as time passed all too quickly I could see your body, your reality deteriorate.
I spent everyday with you. Nothing else mattered to me then. I took you places and talked to you. A change of places of sorts, as you were usually the one to speak while I listened attentively, drinking in your words. And it was you who took me out, to show me this world and let me witness all the tiny miracles happening around me.

Three or so months from the day you told me, and exactly one week from the day you died, we went to the beach together.
We walked from your apartment, hand in hand, to make sure you didn't stumble or bump into something. You were so weak then, slender and fragile, gripping on to my hand. Your eyes weren't all there. Unfocused and cloudy. You weren't all there, and I can only hope that, at that time, your mind was in a better place. So it wouldn't have to observe the state you body was in. It hurt my heart to see you in such a way. A dull, nagging pain that made me want to fall to my knees and grasp my chest.

We sat on the fine white sand, a few feet from the water. The ocean played a soothing melody of back and forth and back and forth waves. The sea foam almost reached our feet, but never quite got there. The quiet wind brushed your hair into your eyes.
You smiled. A small, dainty smile. A smile nonetheless.
I wanted to cry.

I took out a bottle from my cardigan's pocket. It was a bottle of bubbles. The brand we always got when we were younger. It was a powder blue bottle, no longer than my index finger. It was the one you had gotten me for my birthday last year. You told me you bought them because I had recently said I loved bubbles. I promised never to use it unless it was a special occasion and you said that was a waste.

I unscrewed the cap. For some reason, that moment, right then, seemed like the perfect chance to use them. I dipped the wand in the soapy water, held it up and placed my lips to it. I blew carefully, and watched as a stream of perfect bubbles came flowing out. The wind carried them up, up, up, till they seemed to spin in front of the sun. They shone like something precious, colours moving around them, they sparkled in our eyes.
Amazing.
I kept blowing more. The way something so simple created such a magnificent display was spellbinding to me.
Something in you seemed to come back. A light in your eyes. You calmly grasped my hand that was holding on to the bubble wand. Your hand enclosed mine. You brought the wand up to your face and blew. Another parade of bubbles came floating out, but these ones were different. They were more brilliant than any of the ones I had made. It was like a sliver of you was in every one of those bubbles. They were more graceful and more dazzling than anything I had ever seen.

We blew bubbles until the bottle ran empty. I dug a hole in the sand beside me and placed both the wand and bottle inside. I stood up. took hold of your hand and pulled you up next to me. We walked back home as the sun was threatening to set.
---

The day you died, it was quiet. The sun was bright, the clouds were nowhere to be seen. It wasn't just quiet, it was silent. As if the whole world, as if time itself was peacefully mourning.
I was beside you, like I've always been.
I touched your hand, I looked at your face.
You didn't move.
You were resting.


And I hope that you are having a good dream.