The End of a Story

The night sky wakes me up. I lie in bed, breathing. Everything is quiet except my mind. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. One step at a time. A voice reminds me that it’s time to get up. Time to face a new day.

Clothes, makeup, hair. A bag of plain crackers in case I feel hungry. Keys, bus card, chapstick. In my jacket pocket, I find a silver coin.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The cold air hits me like a punch as I lock up. It’s too early on a Sunday for others to be around. I revel in the quiet loneliness of the winter morning. There is no snow today yet. Even the clouds are still asleep. I glance at the sky. It is white, as if someone has erased the universe and its page has become blank. My eyes hurt, staring at the bright emptiness, and yet I feel as though I cannot look away.

The bus ride is a sad song featuring myself and the driver. A quiet music plays from the front of the bus, some popular pop song that’s been on the radio lately. It sounds rusty. The speakers must be old. I lay my head on the stained window. The rumbling of the vehicle keeps me from sleeping, though my eyes cannot help but close.

As the bus continues its journey, I feel other presences gathering around me. People, slowly filling up the space, sharing a sense of exhaustion and weariness. We are all tired. Somehow, I feel as though we all wished to be somewhere else—in our bed, or at a breakfast café, or in the arms of someone we’re missing. We are all craving a warmth that we cannot attain. This moment is cold.

“Next stop: Gregory Street and St. Mark's Road.”

The mechanical voice of the bus’s announcement system pulls me out of my reverie. I get out of my stiff gray bus seat and approach the door. I look back. Someone has already taken my seat. They are speaking in a low voice to their telephone—I wonder who they are talking to. A friend discussing an upcoming event? A child saying good morning to their parent? A lover, who has just woken up and wants to hear their voice?

Or work, reminding them that they have to pull a Sunday shift?

The bus stops. I disembark.

The cold gray stone of my office building stares at me as I walk up the steps. Things have changed, but it has not. The lobby is its usual beige marble, yet it feels more frigid than usual. The elevators greets me with a ding, and I travel upwards.

Breathe in, breathe out.

As my office door closes behind me, I sigh in relief. I am alone. My desk greets me like an old friend, one who understands the need for silence. I stare at the chair next to mine, as if imagining someone in it. They are reading about finances. I breathe.

As I turn on my computer, I cannot stop the tears. Through watery eyes, I begin my work routine. Droplets fall to my desk, narrowly missing my keyboard. My emails are blurred. My mind is blurred. My body is numb. I am alone.

-----

At the end of the day, I could not count my tears. I walk out of the building, into a place of memories. Thoughts flood through my mind like sobs. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t stop breathing, even though each breath hurts. The air is somehow tainted, and I don’t want to be here anymore. I visualize the bus coming around the corner to meet me. The people on the bus cannot see me cry. I have to just breathe.

The quiet breath of the bus stopping gently wipes away my tears. I’m almost home.

----

I lie in bed once again. Have I eaten today? I don’t remember. My stomach offers no opinion on the matter. Why did I want to be home? I’m just alone again. I’m crying again. How long will it be like this? Why is it like this? Why does it have to be like this? I don’t understand.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Frustrated, I swallow the pill on my bedside table. It’s tiny and white. The package promised that it would take effect in twenty minutes. I count down as I breathe. It’s hard to breathe, amidst sobs, and yet I must continue doing so. I only hear my breath and my heartbeat as I sink into a deep sleep.

Today is over. Tomorrow is unknown. I am alone.

----

We are sitting on a park bench, and it’s snowing. The snow is my favorite kind—fluffy and soft, slowly drifting to the ground in a wondrous tumble of winter air. It fills the sky and completely whites it out. Your face is illuminated, and I study it with intense revelry. You ask me why I’m staring so much.

“I don’t want to ever forget you,” I reply, honestly. I want to stay here, staring at your face, forever. Your soft freckles, your warm brown eyes, your messy hair. You look like home.

Suddenly, in an endearing and very business-like manner, you reach into your pocket. You mention something about owing me for part of a meal. You hand me something, a single silver coin. I put it in my jacket pocket.

I’ll put it in my wallet later, I tell myself. I have lots of time.

Later, I came to realize that I didn’t. 

----

It’s been weeks. Not that many, but also not that little. It’s been weeks of routines, sleepless nights, and red eyes. If I count the weeks, I only feel sadder. Isn’t this supposed to get better with time? Aren’t I supposed to be feeling better by now? Why is it that I still cannot control my thoughts? Why do the memories keep coming?

The snow is melting. Winter is ending. Weeks go by.

Suddenly, I have time to myself. Too much time. Why couldn’t I have had time before, when it mattered? Why has time appeared just when I don’t need it? Time allows for boredom, and boredom allows for thoughts. I cannot control my thoughts. The memories keep coming. Will it stop soon?

I glance at my phone. Wednesday, it reads. March 25^th.

I want to write a letter. Letters are good, right? Old-fashioned, and yet they show care and effort. Nobody takes time to write letters anymore, wouldn’t it be special to receive one? I think my biggest fear is that I will not get one in response. Communication is only satisfying when there are two voices on the line.

It’s been weeks, and I am alone.

Alone with my thoughts, alone with my tears, alone with my memories. My feelings feel equally isolated and one-sided. That makes me feel worse. Was it all for naught? Are my memories useless, empty spaces of void that mean nothing? I don’t want them to mean nothing. I want them to be full of meaning, full of joy, full of possibility—and yet I cannot see the future for them. Every day, I wonder if I should make myself forget. If I should force myself to think of these memories as meaningless. If I should let them pass by, just like the weeks.

It seems so odd to me that winter was a happy time. Winter can be so cold, so harsh—and yet, this one was full of warmth and promise. I wasn’t as cold. I wasn’t as desperate to see the sun. In my mind, I had a sun. And now it’s gone. You’re gone. You were my sun in the wintery landscape that forged my life.

And now, spring is here. Winter is over, and somehow I am craving for the snow to return, and for you to return with it. I want to hole up inside myself and relish the darkness of the mornings and the starkness of the powdery white snow.

I drink carefully from my cup of earl gray tea, yet my tongue is still burned. An assignment taunts me from the bright screen of my laptop—due tomorrow, yet not begun. It’s a wonder I’ve accomplished any work at all, as the weeks have gone by.

I feel as though I am cruising on a ship to nowhere. The sea is bottomless and ice cold. I’ve searched for myself in the dark reflection on the water, and yet I’ve found nothing. The ship has no crew. I am alone. I sense with a grave feeling of despair that my travels have only just begun. I see nothing but clear, dark water ahead. There are no islands. There are no people.

I am on a journey. I fear it will last months, and I desperately hope it will not last years. The only destination I had was you, and yet I am seeing it grow smaller in the distance. Will you disappear soon? Have I disappeared for you? It’s only been weeks.

----

The light of my screen burns my eyes, now freshly full of tears. It’s now 2 A.M. Another sleepless night. I close my laptop and hug my pillow as more sobs wreck through me. Will this ever stop? This crying, this pain, this loneliness has been so overwhelming that it feels like it’s been an eternity since my eyes have had a break. My entire body is sore and exhausted. I am tired. I am sick. I want to get off of this ship and swim back to you.

These past few weeks have felt utterly impossible. How do I move past this?

And yet, I must. The seasons pass, and so I must. Snowfall has become rainfall. Ice has become mud. Flowers are blooming, and birds are chirping. The world is renewing itself. I must renew myself. I must keep going.

And yet, I cannot see past the why’s and the how’s.

It’s only been a few weeks. I’m not ready to move on.

Should I wait for you?