It’s cold.
Perhaps it’s a form of self-punishment, to sit here on the cold floor, under the dim light of a lamp and the moon, looking through this scrapbook of memories. Sitting under the blanket you gave me, in your hoodie, alone.
I shouldn’t do this. I have to do this.
It’s quiet. My thoughts scream louder in silence.
You would have scolded me if you knew I was still up at stupid o’ clock in the middle of the night. I’m not sure what time it is. I can’t see the clock from here. I can’t remember where I put my phone. It doesn’t matter.
I’m so cold.
You always ran warm. I always loved it when you held my hands. You had such dry hands. I kept telling you to use hand cream, but you never did. You only used mine when I gave it to you. You said the smell of peaches always reminded you of me. Always made you smile.
Would they still?
There’s a drawing of peach blossoms in our scrapbook. You gave me so many drawings. I saved them all. You kept saying I should let you tattoo me. You could give us matching tattoos. You would even give me a discount. I was too scared of needles.
Maybe it was for the better that you never did.
The tattoos. The piercings. Your eyes. I was a goner the second I saw you.
Ha-yoon never let me live that down. It’s her fault anyway, for wanting a tattoo but being too much of a coward to go on her own. I guess I should be thankful. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I wish I had refused to go.
You had asked if I wanted a tattoo too. It was unfair of you to look at me like that, smirking like that, and expect me to think straight.
Straight. Hah. You would’ve laughed at that.
I blurted out that I wanted your number.
You just blinked at me for what felt like ages. I wanted to sink into the floor. Ha-yoon was cackling in the corner. And then you grinned, wide and smug, that lip piercing glinting in the lights of the shop. I wondered what that piercing would feel like against my skin.
The pet names. Those fucking pet names. I never thought I liked them until they came out of your mouth. Maybe it was just you.
“’Course you can, doll. As long as you promise me a date.”
I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have gone on that date, shouldn’t have let myself be drawn in by the dare in your eyes and the curve of your smirk.
You drew me a buttercup a few weeks later. Was that the second date? Third? I can’t remember. But you told me that’s what you would’ve wanted to tattoo on me. Sweet and pretty like me, you said. I’ve always been weak to compliments. Always been weak for you.
We have a photo from that day. You’re holding a four-leaf clover and looking so proud of yourself. You said it was a good sign, a lucky sign from the universe, just for us.
Clovers are green. I should have remembered then.
But you were stunning. I never stopped being amazed that I could have someone like you in my life, by my side, in my bed. I liked it when you left bruises, left reminders that I wasn’t dreaming, that I was yours and you wanted me. I wanted you to leave your mark on me.
I miss them. I miss you.
There are too many reminders of you in this house.
I have some of your hoodies, your shirts, a few earrings you took out at night and forgot to take with you come morning. Extra pens for when you wanted to sketch and forgot to bring one of your own. A pretty wind chime by my window that makes rainbows sparkle on the wall when it’s sunny, a birthday gift. A bag of my favorite chocolates that I never buy for myself but somehow always had in the cabinet. A fluffy black cat plushie you bought me for our 1-year-anniversary. A rubber duck with violet fairy wings that you got for me on a whim, because you said it was cute like me.
I have one of your violet sketches in here. They were your favorite flower. You had a tattoo of them on your shoulder, in black ink. You didn’t have any colored tattoos. If I got a tattoo, I think I would’ve wanted it to be in color. I would’ve gotten violets too.
I feel the tears coming. I don’t want to cry. We were happy then. I shouldn’t cry.
No tears. No tears. No tears.
I’m okay. I’m fine. How many times would I need to say it to convince myself?
This photo is my lock screen, you smiling at me while I laughed. I don’t know if I should change it. I should. I don’t want to. It hurts to see it. You liked to make me laugh. I loved the way you laughed from your chest, carefree and bold, the sparkle in your eyes when you got excited, the curve of your mouth corners when you smiled. The way you smiled at me.
Here’s a screenshot from a late-night video call. You’re looking at the screen, looking at me, all sweet and soft and I didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve the love in your eyes but you kept saying I did and maybe I started to believe it. I miss the timbre of your voice, the way you said my name like a prayer. The pet names. The rasp of your voice in the mornings and at night.
A photo of you working on a tattoo design. Your eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks, the familiar furrow in your brow, the same as when I didn’t take care of myself. I remember your gentle chiding and scolding, the way you’d brush my hair out of my face and say that you just wanted me to take care of myself the way I cared for others. You always thought too highly of me.
The photo that’s my home screen. You resting your chin on my head, arms around me and hands holding mine. Smiling that soft smile, so different from the smirk that first drew me in but I stayed for that smile that was just for me. I remember the warmth of your hands on mine, the comfort of your arms around me, the way your embrace felt like coming home.
Polaroid photos and phone backgrounds. That’s all I have left, and now I can remember all the green, lurking in the shadow of every moment with you, haunting me every time you said you loved me, weighing me down like chains and grief. All the green I ignored.
A photo from when we went stargazing. We drove out to a state park and tried to find the constellations. We found the Big and Little Dipper. Scorpio. Altair and Vega. The breeze kept blowing my hair into my face. You took a picture of me looking like a mess. I remember you brushing my hair out of my face with gentle hands like I was made of glass, leaving bruises on my soul that might never fade.
I must’ve been staring at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. I hope I did.
I did love you.
Ha-yoon always said I was too needy. Needy for attention, needy for physical touch, needy for sweet words, needy for someone to love me and want me the way no one ever seemed to. Me, always second best, after Ha-yoon, after my brother, never anyone’s first choice. Always wanting, always needing more.
And then you came along, all honey-coated words and light touches and you stole my breath away and set me on fire and I couldn’t resist. You made me feel special, loved, wanted.
I wanted it. I wanted to be happy. I wanted you.
I was happy. I was fine.
I was selfish.
I thought I could keep my secret. I thought I could be normal. I let myself believe I could have this, have you, have a chance at a normal life and happiness and love.
But there’s something missing in my head, in my heart, a missing link, a missing switch. Something that keeps me from loving the way you deserved to be loved, the way you loved me, the way everyone else seems to. Everyone except me.
Green, the color of that stupid flag, green, the color of doom and regret and loss. Green like grenades, ticking and ticking until it explodes and I am destroyed, you are destroyed, everything is in pieces, my hopes and dreams shattered on the floor with the pieces of my soul. All I see is green, green, green, I’m hurling the scrapbook across the room and when it hits the wall I am broken, breaking, broken as my tears hit the ground.
I cry like a thunderstorm. You used to hold me and help me breathe through my sobs in that soft voice, so soft I felt like I was falling apart and being put back together all at once. Now I’m falling apart and you’re not here to put me back together, I am alone in this storm and my cries echo in the emptiness of my room.
I made you cry when I told you. I didn’t want to see you cry. I didn’t want to make you cry. You’re a quiet crier but your eyes, your eyes, you looked at me like I was a stranger.
I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I had to tell you. I had to. It was the right thing to do.
Right?
I should have never started any of this. Should never have stepped into that tattoo shop, should never have asked for your number, should never have gone on those dates. Should never have tried to give you my heart when I knew there would always be something I couldn’t give.
I dared you to love every shard of my fractured soul, I dared you to love all of my sharp edges and cobwebbed hurts. I dared you to love the mess of my being and you took the challenge and loved and loved and embraced every hurting child I hid in the shadows of my heart.
Green, the curse of my life. Green, cursed to love and love but it’s never enough, I will never be enough. I loved you as much as I could’ve loved anyone, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I wanted to love you more, I tried to love you more, I promise I tried.
I never wanted you to leave me. I never wanted to leave you. I would have stayed with you forever, if you let me.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m gasping for air, gasping for you, choking on my mistakes and the happiness that I was never allowed to have. Gasping, drowning, needing you but you’re not here, you’re not here and I’m alone, alone, alone.
I shouldn’t have told you. I couldn’t not tell you.
Could I have pretended? Could I have kept my secret?
Could I have kept you?
Would it have been right?
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