“What happened to that prose you were writing?” she asked, swirling her coffee with a spoon, legs crossed, eyes prying into my own.
It didn’t register for a moment. It was like I’ve forgotten it ever existed: strings of sentences that knew every feeling Ive had. Strange isnt it? After all the time spent.
“You mean,” I paused, knowing the answer but asking anyway, “the one about her?”
She nodded, her face frowning as if I’ve written anything else in prose. It just seemed so far away from me now – our story.
“I don’t need to write about that anymore,” I said, tilting the tea and feeling the warmth against my lips.
“But the story wouldn’t end…” she trailed, engaging in a thought, “There’d be no closure.”
I sighed, reuniting the cup with its saucer. She didnt understand it. She didnt understand how I could just throw away so much time. I supposed it made no sense to her – knowing how much I have bled into the keyboards, only to leave it all in the archives.
“It’s like this,” I start. “I know I still stop whenever I catch a whiff of Issey Miyake’s Rose, or come across red poppies.” I blinked, an image of you already starting to form in my head. “But that’s it. That’s all they are, just signals for memory.”
You know, there was a time where I couldnt do such a thing. I couldnt reduce you. I couldnt let our ending leave without an end. Cause maybe we’re not ever going to end. After three years, I still find myself staring at my phone whenever you leave a stray comment or liked one of my pictures. I’d sit across you every school reunion and our feet would touch with winces of the resulting present. You see, people don’t end.
“And I think it’s okay that it happens. I mean, I know it’ll never end. And after awhile, it becomes okay.”
I‘m convincing myself of this sense of closure. I read about this concept in one of my teacher’s prose piece and felt strongly to respond to it. Maybe this is why I’m having a lot of difficulty in one of my long pieces that was based off someone important to me. After awhile it just sums up to knowing that I have once loved someone so much. And that is it, that’s okay.