if you hear this sigh, you're dying.
You said goodbye, try to forget me.
And a dozen stacked boxes fell with everything I had in your name. I understood that my life would continue without you by my side, that the path I memorized would serve no purpose. I would have to start forgetting your favourite colour and erase your songs from my playlist... I would have to adapt to going out into the world, breaking myself again, rehearsing the speech with which I stole your heart many years ago, hoping that love hasn't gone out of style. I don't know; it's been a very long time since I tried to fall in love again.
In the end, I was left alone with myself. That dreaded minute of loneliness arrived, and I had to tolerate myself and reflect on why you couldn't tolerate me. Maybe I would hit a wall or get drunk alone to avoid thinking about how we had an incredible rhythm to inspire each other, understand that I'm dying, that we're all dying. I can't discern what hurts more: knowing that this is the only truth or coming to terms with the fact that we won't be together when that day comes because I didn't want to see it. In reality, I did everything not to understand it. That point was the final point.
I want to be selfish, incompetent, erratic and have my heart not even remember your hands in mine. But then I inevitably stop to remember you and that tiny hint of your fragrance, it disrupts my entire universe. I no longer want the memory of your smile, that stupid, genuine smile that showed me colours I might never see again. I wish I could erase you from my memory, even though I end up losing all proof that I once was happy, that I tied myself to nothing more than the hope that we would be. And then, to remember that I warned myself about all of this when, in the midst of a deafening noise, I told you "I love you" for the first time. I chose that precise moment when I knew you wouldn't hear it, letting chance make me the fool who would say it first. You didn't hear it.
Now, I don't even want to prolong this sigh. It hurts even to have to deal with your number on my phone. I can't stand it when I say it out loud to avoid forgetting it, even though I know it's a number I'll never call again. I wanted to cut everything in half and give back what belongs to you, half of "me." But I haven't had the courage to open those boxes with dried flowers and photographs of smiles I'll never smile again, those letters that still smell like honey and summer, that person I don't know if I'll ever become again. I know you still live here, in spaces I haven't been able to reach in my soul. And believe me, my love, if you hear this sigh, you're dying.