Somewhere, I Am Waiting for You

Somewhere, I Am Waiting for You

Chapter 2

Let Go

I remember her hair, dull brown and frizzy. It hung, unruly, to the small of her back, graced with cursed silver strands. She cut it, just before she left, to a regulation three inches of spiky stalks. We saved three threads, all brown, so that she could "remember her beauty". I don't know where they ended up.

I can still hear her voice, her high-pitched jabber, a sing-song falsetto that crept through the walls of rooms and hearts. She was such a happy person, always giggling, it was hard not to fall in love.

I remember the smell of her peach blossom body spray, the one she wore day in and day out. I could never convince her that it was made for teenagers.

Her favourite pair of skinny jeans, another thing she couldn't bear to let go of in her forties, are tucked away in her closet. I remember how her legs barely made it into them at the calves, and I remember the surplus of material around her thighs.

I remember her touch.

But I cannot picture her face. Every time I try I can see her standing in my peripheral vision, but she always slips from my view and falls into a never ending oblivion. We do not have photos, never had the need. I am scared of never seeing her again.

I am scared that she will never come home.

I am scared of the inevitable.

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