The wind is placid, tranquil. It bends the air and playfully pushes barren twigs around. And it plays with his hair, his crumpled curls, his mud-tinted locks of sweet fuzz. The wind becomes his blanket – albeit a frigid one – and as he rests against the steps, nose-diving into an alternate world among words, the wind comforts him.

            There are no rustling leaves. The only noise today, unfortunately, is the light whistle in his ears. No matter how comforting the wind’s touch is, its ambient hum isn’t enough to muffle his memories.

            “Stay.” I can still hear the words, resting adamantly in my mouth.

            “God, I can’t do it anymore!” she cried, full of passion; “I hate this! I hate this, I hate this –” Her heart beating loudly, I could hear the blood pumping visibly through her face and the tautness in her muscles… she was shaking. An earthquake. An explosion – a volcano – who couldn’t be contained. Concentration breaks. “I hate this –” she resigned to exhaustion, tears glittering in her eyes. Even in chaos, she was beautiful.

            Calmly, I reached my hands across the counter. “It’s okay –”

            “No.” She turned away. “It’s not.” And in those three words, she was gone.

            His neck tightens. Swallows come, shallow and irresolute. He glances around, and there is a lone person, walking along the sidewalk. No matter. All fades into the periphery; it is like slow motion, birds taking off from branches and their voices fading gradually among the clouds.

Change is a fickle thing – it takes away one’s pain and transfers it to another. Trees’ colors blending, the paint palette of autumn; two strangers into friends, into lovers; birds floating, laughing gaily as they return south once again – isn’t change supposed to be good?

Ink tumbles around the paper, words blurring on the pages, and everything seems crumpled. Ruined. The pages are thin, uneven, and just a little ripped. Just a little bit wrong. But isn’t everything?

            Sun shined through her voice, laughs sparkling in the morning light.

We walked peacefully along this neutral line. Neither of us would take one step in either direction. I turned towards her, smiling. “It’s so nice to hear you laugh.”

            She paused, beautifully looking my way. Placed a kiss on my shoulder. She seemed to drink me in, as though I was the one who may disappear at any moment. Sighed, and closed her eyes, facing the sunlight. And she took a step. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
            “Thinking about what?” I said, forcing my mouth into a grin, despite the brick wall that had materialized between us. She was on one side. And no matter how much I pretended I was with her; I would always be out of reach.

            She shook her head, her resignation and joy all in the movement of her golden hair. “Nothing.” She turned away from the sun, away from me, and the green-blue lake bleeding through the back of her neck sent a shiver down my spine and built the wall between us another brick higher.

            The sun is waning in the autumn sky. It peers through the empty trees: only the sun that falls on the evergreens is diffracted, and sporadic shadows appear across the lawn. His face is illuminated; the light isn’t quite blinding, yet he squints, trying to read words.

            “I can’t do it anymore!”

            Trying so hard to escape reality. It is too much to be here, in this emptiness, in this desolate place. It is a shell of happiness, a place where joy once resided, but that is separate now, like a magnet pulled from the refrigerator and some shiny certificate, coated in pride, is falling to the floor. It is walked over, carelessly, and he can feel the absence like a bird’s talons, piercing his shoulder. His free hand instinctively reaches up and rubs the spot where kisses once adorned his skin, the bones of his shoulder blade more piercing than he can recall.

            “I love you,” I whispered.

            There was kindness in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Was she sorry for herself? Or for me?

            I watched her fall asleep. The quiet, steady beep of her heart monitor was comforting, and I traced hearts on her head. I placed kisses on her shoulders when he couldn’t. I was there when she couldn’t be. And her three words were the sword of Damocles, hanging over her head. I knew I couldn’t handle it. Wouldn’t survive without her. She knew it, too.

            There is a void in the universe. Something is missing, like the gravitational force has been disconnected from the world. He is floating, like the birds, but he is submerged in the waters of purgatory. Like the worst hasn’t quite hit him; like loose boards beneath his feet are about to give way. And then, they break.

And then, he breaks. He can feel himself crumbling, entering a black hole, and is terrified to see what is on the other side. As though anyone could truly understand a black hole. A boundless, uninhabitable vacuum, forsaken and lonely. The sky seems to crush him, envelop him, and even in the pressure, a cavity remains. Not even the sky can fill that chasm.

            Had there been terror then, too?

            “I just want you to be okay.”

            Tears rolled down her cheeks, flooded with pain. She was torn in two. “I will be.”

            And I accepted her answer, even when I could see her skull, see her thready veins from too many IVs, see her weary eyes from weeks in the ICU. Even when I knew she wasn’t okay, I pretended she was.

            The wind just didn’t have a tight enough hold on him. It held him like a lifejacket, swaddling him like a baby, but that empty presence was pushing in on him like a piston, obstinate with an unparalleled force that slammed his book shut and forced the grief from its pit.

            “I can’t do it –”

            And the rain starts. It comes slowly, softly, calmly. In soft showers, mild storms. Becomes aggressive. Abrasive. Disquieting, onslaught of agony. Anger – only then did his book get wet, too. And still, he is silent. And yet, black-and-blue bruises surround him; pain screaming in the quiet, so loud, that anyone’s eyes who passed over him would have had to stop and comfort him.

            But no one could have provided him any comfort. The only one who might’ve was gone.