Final Message

Final Message

When I’m still, you occupy my mind like a tumour, pressing on my brain and making me grow weak. I drop my lids and see your face floating within the depths of my watery blue eyes. These dark pools are a backdrop to the memory of your face, reminiscent of that night when the stars seemed to shine like a halo around you, and you cupped my face in your hands and kissed me gently on the lips.
“I love you,” you said to me.
But you didn’t.
My eyes spring open in one fluent, startled motion, as if suddenly scorched by the heat from your face. A thousand images of you swirl in circles in front of my eyes, your smile taunting me still. The blur of colours from my ostensibly empty life fuse together to make you, and I blink furiously between the images, trying to distinguish the lesser of two evils, until I feel the memory of you running in tracks down my cheeks.

When I’m running I feel I’m running away from you. Sometimes when it’s late and the road is clear I listen closely to the soft padding of my feet grazing the ground, and I can convince myself that that’s you keeping in step just behind me. If I were to slow down, soon your body would emerge beside mine - then I could turn and look at you and you’d be smiling.
“I love you,” you’d mouth to me.
But you don’t.
Your sweet lies make me mad; my pace quickens and the rush of my feet disguises the absence of a second pair of legs straining to keep up. I can ignore the burning in my chest this flight creates, for I know I made it and it’s within my control to soothe it, to pour water on the flame. I push harder and listen to the furious, determined pounding of my heart, and I tell myself that that’s me beating away your memory.

When I collapse on the ground my heart is still hammering with vigour inside my chest, and I close my eyes and assure myself that it’s the sound of your feet carrying you away. Your footsteps grow fainter, and for one fleeting moment I believe that you’re gone. But then the wind whips past me, scooping hair away from my ears and collecting in my open mouth, silencing me for the moment you’ll whisper some deceiving final message. I can almost feel the weight of you as you lean over my broken body, as your lips graze my wet cheek.
“I love you,” you breathe.
So why did you go?

By Martha Everitt
2006