9

CW: suicide, substance use

"I remember the tiny little needles of cold piercing into our skin-"

"If this is a prank call please don-"

"The combination of that and the warm night was stimulating, relaxing. I would be singing the words I've wrote while she stared off into space, hugging me tight. What I did sometimes changed, I would draw or read. She would stare off into space, hum or make flower crowns. Every night we would do this, we would sit on that park bench for hours. From midnight til three or five in the morning. It was paradise."

"Ma'am-"

"Person-" I corrected. "Please just listen to me." I inhaled deeply, looking down at the paper. "I remember the way she smiled when my voice went too high or too low for a song. She loved the extreme tones voices made. Her smile was a simple one, merely a curve of the lips, but her eyes. Her eyes shone as bright as the Sun. She always begged for me to sing for her, any song, no matter what is was, as long as I sang for her. And because she was my everything, I would sing high or low for her despite dysphoria, because that smile of hers washed it all away.

I remember the way she squealed over my drawings too. She adored them all. She especially loved my realistic drawings, the ones of people. There was this one time, where I drew her father. His almond eyes with that little twinkle she has, his strong nose, his sharp jaw, the fluffy curls he had, the little bit of facial hair he had... She cried when she saw it finished. I was so scared- she never talked about her father much, none of her family. The next day though, when I came home from work, I saw the drawing. Hung up on the wall next to an actual picture of her father. She thanked me so many times that day.

I remember the way she complimented the way my pencil danced across the paper. I don't know how she found it fascinating when she could weave flower stems together so gracefully. I tried to do it once, on one of our dates. I made one, but the stems of the flowers were sticking out, they weren't nice and tidy like hers. Hers were like a braid, a perfect braid of greenery. Despite the great difference in skill that showed with our flower crowns, she wore mine everyday til the flowers died.

I remember the joy in her when she got lost in my eyes, the way she smiled when I sang, when I drew, when we made flower crowns, when we stayed up so late sitting on that park bench. I remember her hugs, her laugh, her smile, the way her body fit with mine so wonderfully.

I remember her, all of her. I do. Her down days too."

"Ma'a- person- what are you-" I continued, ignoring the operator.

"I remember her family telling me to break up with her. Everytime she grabbed that bottle, she would cry her guts out. She would hit the wall and slam the bottle down. They said she was violent, that she was a mess that wasn't worth fixing. They're wrong- even now they're so, so wrong. She's worth trying to heal. She was a mess, but she was my mess. Because I remember her good days, her smile and her fear of a fist, I know she wasn't violent. After getting drunk out of her mind, the next day she would spend the entire day cleaning. Everything- not just her mess.

I remember she wouldn't say anything when she was high, but her actions spoke volumes. The way she would hold onto me after she smoked that joint, the urgency in her hug, the neediness. It would make me cry everytime. She would wipe them away and kiss my forehead, she gave me the world despite her trying to forget it all. I would do my best to help her forget, no matter what.

I remember the hyperness and how talkative she was when on acid. She'd talk for hours. That alone was an anomaly, the things she spoke of- I'd be laughing and talking along with her. One time she thought the picture of my husky was alive, that he was running around the room barking happily. That the lights I had hung up from Christmas years ago were swirling around us like fireflies in fairy tales. I remember how happy she felt when we hugged and talked about the random things she saw.

I remember the dark days when she was high. She did her best to not have me see her like that. I caught her once though. I smelled weed in the air, I remember I smiled as I was going to go cuddle her- and she loved cuddles when she was high... But then I saw the glint of the knife, the shine it made on the wall. My eyes widen as I saw it go to her wrist, there were so many marks.. I remember I ran towards her, the marks were cuts. She just cut deeper and deeper.

'Sarah! Stop!'

'Have you ever felt this before, L?' I remember how she said it with a laugh of sorts.. 'It feels like it's taking a breath of fresh air- it's cold yet warm.' She looks at me with a smile. I remember how my heart fell. Her smile was dead, and her eyes were ghosts. 'Like our nights at the park.' I remember the fear, the panic and the bile climbing it's way up my throat.

'Sarah- you- no-' A look flashed across her face as she struggled to get up. I helped her. She hugged me. I rested my chin on the top of her head, ignoring the coolness of her blood, focusing on her embracing me.

I remember how loud I cried seeing the pool on her bed. She buried herself deeper into my body, I remember crying her name over and over, trying to grab my phone to call 911. She told me to stop, that she was okay. We ended up on the ground. She told me of the world, staring off into my eyes with that small twinkle she shared with her father. 'I love you, L. I do.' She said. 'I love yo..u...'

I remember crying, holding her for hours before calling 911. They thought I killed her- I went with it. I might as well have. Her family said it wasn't my fault. She was a mess, violent, an addict, she was simply using me for my money, that she didn't love me.

They're so wrong, Sarah. They're so so wrong. They didn't see that night. I did, I still do. I love you, you know? I do. I really really do. I did my best to move on, like you said in your letter. I just can't. I can't. You were the light that brought me away from the depths of dysphoria, that brought me away from my family wanting me to fit their mold, you were my shield- I was yours. You were my sword, I was yours.

You were my everything. You were my lighthouse, Sarah. I miss you, Sarah. I can't do this alone. I can't. Everytime I walk past the park I see the ghost of you- your smile, I hear your laugh, I see your flower crowns. I need you Sarah. I need my lighthouse." I heard the sadness from the operator.

"Don't do it, L. Don't do it-" He repeated it. "Help is so close- it's a minute away- you'll be okay, we-"

"I'll be with her, paradise or hell.. I'll be with he-"

"Nein- nein nein!" The phone fell out of my hand as it hit. I smiled, my lighthouse.. My Sarah.