"Goldilocks Never Found What She Was Looking For"
I never understood what loss would feel like until I felt it. I assumed, that loss like other emotions, would eventually pass away with time; assumed it would become a memory in the corners of my mind.
Then, I lost you.
I had built up this world for you and I, complete with fairytale dreams of a home in the woods with a fence around the yard and three children perfectly spaced apart running through the trees. Little beds all done with matching quilts and perfectly spaced trinkets between the books on the shelves. There were shutters and a charming chimney in this imaginary future, and of course, there was you.
I never expected to be in this cold apartment in this noisy city where the clouds hang low, grey, sad and clinging to the feeling of those below trudging along. I never expected to sit in the living room with one worn sofa, a thrown out coffe table, and a bookshelf with all of four books: an unused cookbook, your old favorite book of poems, my mother's copy of Gone with the Wind and a very worn Bible I almost chucked from my fourth story window the day before.
I never expected the white walls would feel so bland, the floors so cold, the kitchen so abysmal, or that my bed would resemble a matress with a pile of bedding, like an angry giant rat disrupted the pile into a nesting place.
The bottle in my hands is not enough to chase the pain away, and never strong enough to send me into oblivion as long as I'd like to remain there.
I've thrown away the mirrors and hid the photos in a box under the sink with the cleaning supplies I never use.
My mother calls still, twice a week to see how I am, to see if I'm eating, if I'm alive, if I haven't jumped.
I only tried once.
The bridge was too cliche, the apartment not quite high enough, but the warehouse down the corner was so welcoming, it seemed just right in my head; imagining leaping as the pidgeons took flight seemed like a macabre painting taking life; muted greys and browns, my golden hair the only pop of color against the old industrial background of a forgotten time. It's a shame they wouldn't let me climb to the roof.
I suppose you would have thanked those men.
You wouldn't have wanted me to go on like this, would you have?
I guess you should have thought of this before you decided to take your life over something so trivial. We would have made it, could have made it, it would have been fine.
I never blamed you.
If that top step hadn't been so small and maybe if I weren't so clumsy, but none of it matters now. I really did love you more than her.
I never liked that staircase, anyway. It was too many steps, too curved, and the the wood was too light a color. Not that it matters, really.
I guess, in the end, you loved her more than you loved me.
Sad, though, we could have tried again, you and I. I would have liked that.
It never was your fault I fell, it never was your fault the ambulance couldn't get there in time, or save her. I never realized how hard it would be to convince you, but never, ever, ever, did I think you would end it all like that.
I guess we all hate mirrors because they show us what we don't want to see.
I wish they taught us in school how our actions leave such an impact on everyone, especially those we leave behind. I wish they prepared us for how we would come to hate the world. I wish we weren't raised on fairytales with "happily ever afters" and endings all tied neatly when the story comes to a close.
I never understood what loss would do to me.
Now I do.
By Elizabeth Azpurua