[You and I]

My fingers drifted along the cool surface of the window, tracing our names where my breath had steamed the glass. It was on nights like these, where the clouds parted for the stars, and the wind hushed for the sea; you and I would sneak ourselves away from the world to meet at the rock pool down by the beach. Your laugh would dance with mine as we stole a secret kiss beneath the waves. I would tug you from the water’s embrace and we stumbled to shore, your arms finding their place around mine, so our bodies warmed as one. The water would lap at our toes as we watched the incoming tides, our hands entwined like the seaweed that tickled our feet. You and I would run through the sand to see who could find the prettiest shells. But no matter how many we found, you would whisper into my hair that there was nothing in this world that held more beauty than I.

You found a conch shell hidden deep underwater, its structure so delicately carved by the waves; each ridge so intricately designed. The flecked shell was adorned with warm hues that held the same familiarity as your eyes. The conch’s silky interior, the same shade as my cheeks whenever your gaze rested upon me. I outlined each crevice, enchanted by its allure. You eased it from my hands and held it up to my ear, telling me that as long as the waves sang from this shell, your heart would sing for mine. It was then that we both knew it would be just you and I until the end. And when the sun kissed the sky, your lips bid me goodbye, already longing for the next time we would meet. We stretched out these rare moments for a lifetime, desperately trying to savour every second, to satisfy our hearts until they met again.

It was on nights like these, where the moonlight glinted in the rain and the taste of frost hung in the air; you and I would flee our responsibilities to hide at the gazebo atop the hill. Your smile kept hidden beneath your woollen scarf as we rolled in the autumn leaves like children. The reds and oranges of nature’s fallen love reflected in the puddles, making it appear as if we were laying in liquid fire. When the dampness soaked through our layers, you would drag me into the coffee shop, down by the walkway and sit me next to the furnace. The warm smell of cinnamon spice wafted from the disposable cups you set before us, your legs bumping affectionately against mine beneath the table. You and I would talk for hours under candlelight, spinning tales of our future together and how nothing could pull us apart.

I found an acorn concealed among the autumnal debris, a contradiction that somehow complemented each of our personalities. The cup was elegantly carved to look like the scales of a dragon, its roughness reminding me of the scars you carried from your past. The smooth shell of the nut; a glimpse into my untouched soul, where you were broken and I was not. You and I, two lost individuals, only found ourselves in each other. And so I led you back up the hill near where the gazebo stood, and eased the gloves from my hands. I raked my fingers through the soil, creating a pit in which to rest the acorn. I ignored the crisp moisture biting into my skin as I placed it in its earthly hollow. When it was planted, I brushed the dirt from my hands and told you that as long as the acorn grew, my love would grow for you. And when it evolved into a strong oak, I would bring you back to carve our names into the bark, so whenever we were apart we would find ourselves solidified in the heart of nature.

It was on nights like these, where smoke billowed from chimneys and trees swayed in the evening breeze; you and I would escape the stillness of life to stay at the cabin in the woods. Your eyes would be set aglow as we sat by the fire, bewitched by the dance of the flames. My head would find its place against your chest as we fought to keep ourselves awake. I could feel the vibration of your voice working its way through my body as you sang into the stars. It was like a rich spoon of honey oozing its way through my veins, each note you held lacing its way into my memory as my thoughts drifted off into space. I would weave my arms around your waist, never wanting to let go. You and I would sit for hours in comfortable silence, praying we could stay like this for an eternity. But when the sun began to peek over the horizon, our trance broken, we began the journey home, our steps already falling in time with one another. It was then that I desperately wanted to say I only felt at home when I was with you.

You found a cluster of moss growing on a tree, its vivid dampness standing out against the dull, knotted bark. From a distance, it gave off a velvety sheen that reminded me of how your hair shimmered under the starlight. The dense-packed strands of greenery making me shudder as I skimmed my fingers over it. Its earthly scent lingering at the back of my nose. You were always fond of nature, seeming to come to life whenever you were among it. I chased you through the trees, our laughter bouncing into the sky. We came upon a creek, watching as the water slithered through, hardly caring how it soaked through our shoes. As we carried on running together, you told me that as long as the moss pointed north, your love would point to mine. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time I ever stole a moment with you.

It was on nights like these, where my breath caught in my throat and my heart tugged at my chest, that I wished you were still alive. It was often that I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor, drowning in my tears, knowing I could never have you back. Sometimes I still hoped I would find myself cradled in your arms, for you to tell me that everything was going to be okay, but I knew that would never happen. Even so, I yearned for you to hold me against your chest one more time, to feel your heartbeat hammering against mine. But then I reminded myself, even though I didn’t have you with me, I had you in all the little things. When I lay in bed alone, trying my hardest not to break, I pressed my ear against the sleekness of the conch shell, letting the roar of the waves drown out the pain. I visited the oak tree, which had grown quite a bit in the years since you had passed, and stared at the empty spot where you would’ve carved your name. Although that was one thing we never got to do, the tree was still thriving, and that meant our love was, too. I even stopped by that spot in the woods where the moss grew to find comfort in the fact it still pointed north.

I found the cliff tops from the picture you kept tucked away at the back of the dresser by your bed. It’s edges worn, and the colour faded from all the times you traced your fingers over it, fantasising about the day we would stand there, joint in marriage. And as I stood facing the horizon, the wind howled for the pain I carried deep inside me. The waves down below thrashing as my chest caved inward with the realisation of everything I had lost. So I whispered my goodbyes into the night, hoping you would hear me call out, and then I opened the urn, releasing your ashes into the sky. I watched you dance with the stars before the wind whipped you away. A single tear slipped down my face as I turned away. You were gone forever, and I left there with nothing but memories of a life where it was just you and I.