but I don’t quite know what it is. It may be the way she smiles or the dress she wore to the only event of the year. The way her cherry gloss tastes. Yum.
Evening: 5 pm
But I know that it is the humour in her eyes as she bites into someone’s over-inflated ego. Maybe I hurt her at some point along the way. Maybe she wounded me. Maybe we were meant to fall apart. Maybe we were meant to be.
Early Night: 7 pm
Alas, I will never know because she left for good. She waved – and was never seen again. This girl, in the year that she has been at this school has transformed it. She erased lines. She drew others into line. She lit fires in the eyes of the dead. But she was burning the fire of life, and she was out of fuel. So she left. She never looked back.
I still think of the only time I have felt alive. I know that it is wrong, when there is another lying in bed with me – whispering sweet nothings I could never hope to feel. I leave. The fire is uncommon, only found in a few – you need it to be alive. I do.
It’s been years since I graduated – a millennia since I’ve seen her. I long to catch the glint of her edged words, a spark of her flame, a sign of life. I don’t. The fire she lit is still burning. I crave more.
Morning: 3 am
I do not sleep anymore. I do not eat. I do not want this fuel. I want her. I am not satiated. I never will be. I’m human.
Morning: 6 am
I didn’t need to wake up, but I do. I rouse from the trance I have come to know as insomnia. I walk around – catching sight of a blade. It’s not her. A pity, honestly. She wouldn’t pull out her swords at the slightest provocation – there was also her poisonous tongue, it would leave many scathed and was unforgiving in its nature. I had scars carved into my skin. Maybe she did hurt me.
Morning: 8 am
I reminisce about her sarcastic humour. Her dark aura. Her magnetic touch. It hurt, yes, but she was worth it. She was infatuated with the thought of perfection. Yet, she never strived to achieve it. Maybe that’s what did me in, the final factor, her crooked desires. She was the one for me. For many.
Morning: 10 am
I see my reflection in a mirror. I see her. Bright and alive. Her fiery eyes are livid. Her life force replenished. Her desires set. She turns, walks away – twin blades gleaming on her back. Again.
Early afternoon: 11 am
It has been exactly fifteen years since I saw her. Give or take three minutes. I have dreamed of nothing more – not that I sleep. My face has become little more than a skeleton. I have started to eat. It is not for her smile, or her vibrant dress, definitely not for her cherry lip gloss. It wasn’t for her at all.
From love, from hope, from joy, from everything I wasn’t capable of feeling was born a child.
It was for the child that I lived.
It was for the fire that had consumed my entire life.
It was that fire which I had fed my life into.
So she could have fuel.
But that was an inadvertent benefit.