centuries

xii. memory

the air is damp and sticky like a 

freshly washed sweater

and the sky is the colour of

a muddy wet paper,

but i still claw my way

across the crowds

of a busy sunday,

to find my way to your home.

deep in chambers of my

not-yet-healed-heart

i know i might be making things worse

but when you didn't pick up my call

(or one of my thrity seven calls) 

i'm sorry, i just had to. 

you house looks the same it did that day,

as if two girls 

(so much in love)

could still be sitting inside

playing video games. 

but through the lace curtains 

i can only 

see

dark.

the ring of the doorbell sounds like 

a strangled hyena 

and i am almost sure that

no one will open 

when your mother trhows the door open. 

she looks tired and she

looks like you. 

she eyes me warily before telling me to go

back before

anyone found out that i'm here. 

"can i see aria one time? please?" i plead. 

she wrinkles her nose and for a second i think she will 

tell me to leave but she mutters, "be quick about it."

before stepping aside to let me in. 

i mutter a 'thank you' and enter. 

the house looks gloomy and morbid

and i hate to think of you- 

bubbly and happy-

living in this place. 

i rush toward your room-

i have been here enough times

to know it as well as my house-

and push the door open. 

you sit on your bed, with your legs crossed. 

you look up suddenly and 

various expressions pass over your face,

each last for not even a second. 

you quickly stand up and brush your jeans before

 saying, "how are you here?"

"your mom let me in."

"my father won't..."

"like to see me here, i know."

you stare at me like you have never seen me before. 

"how are you?" i ask. 

for an agonzing second, she says

nothing. she sits at the corner of her bed and invites me 

to sit next to her before she speaks. 

she tells me she's moving out. 

she tells me her father took her phone away.

she  tells me her father can't stand to look at her anymore. 

tears are already welling up in my eyes and through

the salty tears, aria's figure looks jumbled up

and if i don't blink away my own tears,

maybe, maybe

i could see her own. 

"i do still love you." she tells me in a low voice. "maybe i can

come over sometimes." it's an empty promise,

i think she and i both know that.

"my mom is alright with this whole thing, i think."

my ears are ringing. she's moving out of the city. 

she's going forever. 

and it's my fault. 

her mom is standing at the doorway, watching us.

she tells me to go, since her husband will be home soon. 

she allows us one last hug before she tells me 

they're moving out in three days. 

i walk home, 

with aria's dark face in my mind.

i try to concentrate on her smiles

but it always changes into her

glass-like expression.

it's not until i find myself walking to 

the ocean,

to her favourite spot,

that i break down. 

i don't want to but i curse her father,

it's just not right. 

and it's just not fair.

aria told me to remember her,

even if we never meet again.

of course i will remember her, 

she is etched into my memories

and i can't forget her,

it's impossible. as impossible as the sun 

to stop shining or 

me loving her. 

 i will remember her, of course i will. 

for centuries to come, 

she's all that i will

remember. 

in my grave,

i will recall her smile,

in afterlife i will

recall her laugh

and for centuries to come,

i will recall 

her.