Just a Cemetery of Broken thoughts

He couldn’t actually be here, not today, not after all this time. Yet, the image remained no matter how many times she attempted to blink him away. He wore a light gray button-up, a sharp contrast to her mental image of him in the black hoodies and tees that constituted the extent of his style range back then. She’d tried to get him to move into lighter colors, to compliment his skin tone, but he was set on the black. A reminder that there’s not one true black. There’s never one true anything. 

She knew the truth, that this was something he made up to avoid change, but she grew to love reciting it to anyone who’d ask why he was always in black. She loved watching their judgy eyes grow wide as they realized-- or, rather, were convinced of --their mistake in judging him so soon. She loved the amused looks he’d shoot her way as they reacted. And he loved the praise he’d get from the same people once he finished. He never got sick of hearing how “beautiful” and “insightful” his words were. Little did they know, those words were nothing but an improvised excuse. They’d have been blown away but some of the observations he made when he was really paying attention. She always was. 

Maybe it was the unique silence of a cemetery, of being surrounded by people that have been forced into silence long ago, that brought the specific line to mind. Just a cemetery of broken thoughts. He’d said it offhandedly, not even shifting his gaze. She knew it was a reference to another train of thought she’d lost before getting it all out. It had been months since his haunting words had snuck back into her head. Three years of pushing them out, of building defenses against them, of limiting their surprise attacks to a fleeting thought. Yet in just a moment, maybe even less, the years of defenses crumbled and all her work was rendered worthless. In just a moment, he undermined three years of getting over him. 

Her wall was still up against him, but she’d come to realize that the wall is useless against her own thoughts and memories. She’d cursed the world for keeping that from her. She’d wasted all this time blocking out the world and all it did was lock her alone with the thoughts and memories she’d wanted gone. Maybe she should’ve known. It’s common sense, really, that a wall only guards against the outside world. It was an entirely different process to push out the people she’d welcomed in long ago who now refused to leave. The wall surrounded a sea of squatters overstaying their welcome, paying no mind to the host begging them to go home. There was a time when she never wanted them to leave and they would be there to comfort her, to lift her spirits. Then they were destroying her, indifferent as they tore her apart piece by piece. Finally, she’d managed to wrestle each and everyone out, beyond the no-longer-useless wall. Occasionally a guest could disguise itself enough to get inside, but her wall had been pretty successful lately. Still, it stood no chance against this powerful surprise attack. 

How could she have prepared for him being here, in their hometown, today of all days? He has to have known she would be here. He must have come back specifically to see her. The tension in her shoulders is replaced by shaking as she is unable to fight the laughter overcoming her. She looks back at him, and his face remains stoic, save for the slight eyebrow furrow which always gave him away. His trademark poker face rendered him mostly unreadable to everyone else, but she could see right through it every time. At least, she could in the beginning. Her laughter fizzled out as the memory of the end caught up with her reminiscence of the good times, ruining it all over again. 

She pulled herself together just before he reached her, suddenly aware how insane she must’ve looked. She tried to find the words to explain herself, but she’d never been good at words. That was his thing. He probably wouldn’t even remember the cemetery comment. To him, it was just another observation of the world through his eyes. She wondered if, at the time, he realized how rare those beautiful thoughts had become. She knew he didn’t notice how tightly she grasped that phrase, holding on to that tiny shred of the man she’d once known with white knuckles and telling herself it meant he was still in there, even as he stared straight ahead, oblivious to her desperate gaze, begging him to reappear, to prove her right. She never saw the old him again. 

He was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. He’d almost turned back when she’d started laughing. He was close enough now to see the pain behind the laugh, the pain he’d caused. He watched as the laugh died and she looked at him with the same sad, pleading look he’d grown all too familiar with. He’d watched as he broke her, bit by bit, too selfish to cut her loose. He’d never even given her an explanation. At the time, it meant admitting to himself that he had lost control and that he had a real problem. He had no excuse for leaving her in the dark for three years after that. He’d been a coward. 

Now he’d finally built up the decency to give her an answer, and he was starting to wonder if she’d have been better off never seeing him again. Tears welled in her eyes already and he felt like an idiot for choosing today, of all days, to bombard her like this. He looked behind her at the fresh flowers she’d just placed on her brother’s grave, just as she had on this day every year since he met her. He couldn’t have chosen a worse day, but it was the only time he knew where she’d be.

She waited expectantly for him to explain and he knew that he should be the one to speak first, but he couldn’t get the words out. “You always thought I was good with words, and yet even now I can’t find the words to tell you the truth...” he shrugged, unable to come up with an explanation that seemed good enough. She deserved more than what he could offer up. She raised her eyebrows, silently asking him to go on. “I want to give you an explanation that’ll make everything make sense, that’ll make what I did okay, and I just don’t have that.” 

“What do you have then?” She’s really asking him what he’s doing here, why he feels the need to interrupt her life. “I have the truth…” that’s all he could offer her, as insignificant as it was. He wonders if he can really get the words out, if he can bring himself to admit that what took him away was exactly what had caused her so much loss before she’d ever met him. That it was the same thing that gave her a reason to be here, in this same cemetery on this same day, every year. 

“I’m so sorry I ever took that first pill…” The betrayal in her eyes was so much worse than anything he could have imagined. The intensity of confusion, anger, hurt was more than he could bear. He stared blankly at his feet, but he could still feel the burn of her eyes on him, as if they were beaming shame directly into him. 

Her voice was barely a whisper. “You knew about my brother…” He could only nod. “You knew what that did to my family, to ME,” her voice had gotten stronger now. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m just… I’m sorry,” he didn’t have a reason for taking that first pill. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just taken it from the outstretched hand, just like his friends in the same room with the same pill bottle. He’d never predicted how much he’d like feeling numb. He hated to admit it, but her brother hadn’t crossed his mind until after the pill was down. 

“Just a graveyard of broken thoughts… Do you remember saying that?” His eyes finally met hers. He’d said that years ago, near the end of their time. He’d meant to think it, but he knew the second he felt her gaze that he’d said it out loud. Her eyes held a glimmer of hope, of the admiration she’d once held for him. He’d grown so used to seeing only disappointment and sadness when she looked at him, but for just a moment there was a hint of the feelings she’d once had. That was the last moment she saw anything good in him. He’d grasped it tightly, never wanting to lose it. He never saw that look again. 

“You were talking about yourself, weren’t you?” She was right. It was his last cry for help, the closest he’d ever gotten to telling her about his disease. But the addiction silenced him, telling him she’d never forgive him. Looking at her now, he wondered if it was right. “I’ve been clean for 8 months now…” 

“I’m proud of you.” He could hear that she meant it. “I regret so much about how things ended…” he wanted to fix things, but he could see the rejection in her face and trailed off. “I’m really glad you got help…” It was both an apology and a goodbye. He nodded. “Me too.” He stared at the stone in front of him, listening to her footsteps fade as she left him again, once and for all. Just a cemetery and a broken man.