Time Travel
Every moment already exists.
This morning I woke up and I was free from your memory. I push back the sheets and I wipe my eyes. In this room, there is nothing that belongs to you anymore. I make my way to the bathroom and perform the daily rituals that you’ve watched me do. Out of habit, I leave the door open because you like that. You like watching me as I wash my face, as I brush my teeth and you, most of all, you like dragging yourself out of the bed to join me in the shower.
And just like that I remember you.
I remember the shape of your body on the bed, the way your hair falls on your face because you sleep on your stomach. The way you stretch as you wake up and how you outshine the morning with your smile. I remember the way the sheets map out the outline of your body. That’s what I remember most.
By the time I am done making the bed however, I forget you once again. I have to make breakfast now and the sound of the eggs sizzling and the smell of coffee helps me pass the time without missing the way you hum old jazz tunes while you read the paper. You don’t think I notice and I didn’t know that I did.
I set the table for myself. A single plate, the fork on the left and the spoon on the right. I open the fridge and I bring out the milk. Chocolate. The kind you don’t drink.
As soon as I open the cupboard where the glasses are, you waltz right in again. Humming the jazz tune. Above my milk glass is your wine glass. I reach for it because I don’t want to hurt my neck staring at it because I know I will do that. I have done it each time I remember the lipstick stains you left on it.
I press the mouth to my lips. The memory of the lipstick stain has become faint, like the smile on my face now. But I remember.
Your wine glass is filled with my milk and I turn the TV on and the sound erases every trace of you from my mind. The world is occurring outside of this small apartment where all of our memories took place.
Events from all over the world fill my head. A storm somewhere, a sunk boat, politicians bickering, prices going up ever higher and another death.
The sound of all this continues to effectively occupy my mind while I get myself dressed for work. I barely notice the space you left in the closet as I pick a pencil skirt I know you chose and bought for me. I’ve contemplated getting rid of it during the nights when I sit in front of the window with a cigarette in my hand, wondering where it all went.
I button up my dress shirt and smoothen it out, the way you would if you were still here. I brush my hair, put on some light make up and I remember how beautiful you made me feel.
And then I can’t help but remember how beautiful you are. I wonder if you still are.
There are days when this thought would send me to the floor, engulfed in the emptiness of this little space we once shared but today, time moves along for me and I make it out of the apartment. There are days, like today, when I can carry the emptiness with me.
A stranger sits next to me on the bus and today I don’t remember the light chats we have that you think I take for granted. I always sit by the window and maybe there’s a light frown on your face as you talk while I stare out and observe everything else but you. Perhaps you hated that. I wish I knew.
Sometimes I close my eyes when the bus reaches your stop but there are days, like today, when I am numb to the memory.
There’s work to do and there’s little space for you here. This I am sure you never liked.
It’s time to go when I realize I forgot my phone at home. It’s very difficult to remember it now. It never rings and there’s no one to call.
Outside, I’m glad that the street is filled with people. I don’t want to recall late nights when I see you waiting for me with a bag of food in your hand because you remember that I forget to eat.
Another stranger next to me, my eyes are on the road and the lights and the people. I’m exactly as I was when you were beside me.
I don’t cook at night. I don’t do much at all in the evenings. I wash myself, I change my clothes and I open a bottle of pills. Because there is nothing else that will help me escape the dread of knowing that tomorrow morning, I might start remembering more and more of the little details that I escape.
Just a little of you would be enough to make me take more than what I need of these little pills.
Your hair. Your eyes. Your lips. Your hair. So much of you to say goodbye to.
Fictionalized Facts 