Year 13, Gore High School
Enveloped in my pillows and my duvet, the world is all at peace, streetlights flickering, rain on the roof, and the sound of my breathing as I attempt to lull myself to sleep.
However, I cannot, my mind is racing as fast as the 2am train.
Faces, voices, and songs pop into my head and back out again.
Everything is short-lived, everything but the torture of remembering how your hugs felt.
I sigh and roll over, expecting the next thing to race to my mind.
But then it is almost as if I can hear your voice, "Hey AA, how you going?", "You always look lovely to me AA", "OK, talk to you soon AA".
In lots of ways, I know its a good thing that I can keep your words in my mind, refresh the way your voice sounds, and stop myself from losing you that little bit more.
But right now, on this Wednesday morning, I don’t want to feel it.
I don’t need the freshness of the pain to hit me, to swallow me. I don’t want to be forced to remember that you’re not here any more.
The first tear slips down my cheek as I reminisce what it was like talking to you.
You kept things short, and never overly detailed, but you always wanted to hear about my day or what book I was reading.
A compliment from you had the ability to brighten my week.
With you being so quiet and keeping to yourself, I knew you meant it if you had something to say.
Your love was never overpowering, or in my face, it isn’t the type of love so intense that I feel your loss constantly.
Your love was different from that, it wasn’t a roaring fire, it was crackling embers.
It was an old hoodie that smells of home.
Your love was comfort.
A comfort I now feel myself lacking.
So maybe that’s why, this Wednesday morning at 2.07am, warm in my bed, not a sound outside, not a single thing in my mind, I cannot sleep.
I can’t find comfort.
At 2.11, the first sob hits me.
I remembered the smell of your aftershave.
This sob isn’t loud, it doesn’t make any noise actually.
It’s a gasp, I pull at the air, hoping to drag enough into my lungs and stop this horrendous hole in my stomach.
Memories flick through my mind, faster and faster, until it’s all just a flurry of your face and your smile.
Then it’s your laugh.
Except, it’s not.
Because it occurs to me, I can’t picture the way it sounded in my mind.
Maybe I can’t picture it because it’s two in the morning and I’m exhausted, or maybe it’s more than that.
Maybe you’re fading, maybe by next week, I will have forgotten the smell of sawdust on your woollen jerseys.
Maybe by next month, I won’t remember your whistling, perhaps by next year I won’t know how your hugs feel.
The gasping and sobbing grow more intense, as the dryness of the air hits the back of my throat.
I know that it’s natural to remember less and less, but at 2.19am on this Wednesday, I do not care.
Only one thing can fix these sobs, only one thing can help me sleep, and only one thing can soothe this racing mind.
Seems I am destined to be stuck in this moment forever.
