a teenage vow in a parking lot:
"til tonight do us part"

    He was one of those people who reminded you of a not-quite-there dream, stubborn at the forefront of your mind. He had hair that sprouted peonies and forget-me-nots and eyes that shined with words his mouth couldn't say. His voice was like broken bells and his skin so soft that had you cut crosses along his skin, you would've wondered why the blood left on your fingers reminded you so much of damp petals and silk gowns.

He was all pale skin and sharp bones, with dark eyelashes framing russet eyes and freckles that resembled galaxies and far-away planets. In the morning he would wake up to white sunlight spilling over the edge of his bed, and at night he'd often find himself outside, feet imprinting moist soil as he made his way towards the greenhouse. His head would tilt back, just enough so that he could scavenge the sky for moons and UFOs.

"Do you think the Gods get lonely?"

"I don't know."

Nights with him weren't exciting like a dirty porno. He never wanted a quick fuck, and he didn't moan your name like he couldn't get enough. But he did ghost his hands over your shoulder blades, and his hair would act as a curtain of privacy when he leaned down to kiss away your sanity. He'd let you map out his freckles with your mouth and tongue, all while trying to school his expressions to hide his vulnerability. His body was a thing of mysteries, with the way it would bend and mold to fit your touch, flushed skin heating your palms. He would often falter in his movements, hesitation in the curve of his eyebrow and awkwardness hidden in his poise. He'd breathe you in like fresh air.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

He took his showers in the morning. You could always hear him as he padded his way into the kitchen with damp, tangled hair and loose shirts. He'd whisper sweet nothings as he trailed around the room, watering lilies with a plastic cup. He was always too thin, and bags clung to the underneath of his eyes from long, insomnia-ridden nights. He would unwittingly play with your feelings like a child in possession of a new toy.

"Do you love me?"

"No."

His bus left on a Tuesday; it was rainy and clouds swallowed up the entire sky. In his place he left behind a quiet honesty and the heat of his breath lingering on your neck.

    I never saw in color until last August, when on a rainy, blue, blue day I ran into a 25 year-old man with dark hair in the middle of the market. He was so alien amongst all the pears and tomatoes, the backdrop of wooden stands behind him dotted with rot, that it was like the start of a revolution. His hair stood on end from the nape of his neck to the rounded tips of his ears, and his eyes were too dark to make out from where I stood. In that moment I fell in love.

I watched him as he drifted from stand to stand, hands ghosting over tables and half-smiles dancing at the corners of his lips. He didn’t buy anything, choosing not to linger at any one stand before being drawn to another, but watching him was beautiful. It was beautiful how carefully he touched each fabric, how gently he held the fruit. He appeared entranced by the swirls of color and he yet moved as freely as the wind blew. It was a red flag, as big and glaring as the sun, and I never noticed.

We moved quickly. Once a night on the town, twice a romantic dinner, until it was just me and him and the sound of our breathing hitting against the walls of his parent’s house. He held me as if I was glass, and it never mattered how many times I said, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he never held me any tighter.

One morning as I looked him in the face and he laid looking at the ceiling, I wondered how it was that he could own me so completely. When asked, he merely shrugged and said, “isn’t that how it’s always been?” I didn’t know how to say no—that without him, I was more.

By late September he was gone. He left as easily as he came, leaving behind a kiss and the brushing of his fingers against mine. It was a mercy killing, but the knife was dull, and it never cut quite right. I never saw him again, but I felt him with each turn of the wind, remembered him in the storefronts of the shops downtown. For an entire month I saw in blues and pinks and volatile yellows, but in his absence, I saw only in sound and the ghosts of what were. I realise now that I never really knew the difference.