So I follow. I follow up and down, through the sparkling evergreens, inside branches and brambles, past cabins and meadows and all civilization until we crest the top of a hill. I never see her face. She keeps a steady pace and my heart beats in time to the step of her Doc Martens. We watch the sunset from the top of the hill and she says to the sky “Chase me.”
So I do. She sprints through the fields, uprooting petunias, and marigolds as she goes. I chase after her, grabbing for her arm only to catch air. For hours we rush, caught up in this endless tango of air and running and footsteps. My lungs grow brittle and my feet scream in agony. I don’t stop. We make it to the city and scramble through the streets. Colors and stop lights blur together until all I see is her. Dogs lunge at us from the sidewalks. Taxi drivers curse us out but we keep going. Only once we arrive at the bleeding, throbbing heart of the city does she stop. We watch the cells of the city grow, and duplicate and fuse together. To the crowds she says, “Love me”.
So I love her. With my whole heart. I hold her hair when she gets too drunk, I wipe her tears with my own fingers. I watch every romantic comedy I can find, so I can teach myself to love her. I leave roses on her doorstep and weave tulips in her hair. I stay up past midnight counting every individual freckle on her face, memorizing them like stars. I take long walks of solitude and spend months writing poems, novels, epics, about her. I mess up, and cry, and forgive and forget. I keep every compliment she’s ever given tucked away inside my heart. I wear my shiny shoes because they're her favorite. I ask her father for permission and her grandmother for a ring. I love her. We watch our love blossom, and flourish and age. Then, to my lips, she says, “Kill me.”
So I kill her.
And as her limbs lay twisted, broken at uneven angles, I finally behold her face. But there is nothing there. Only a daisy, and a whispered “Thank you” in the wind.
So I do. She sprints through the fields, uprooting petunias, and marigolds as she goes. I chase after her, grabbing for her arm only to catch air. For hours we rush, caught up in this endless tango of air and running and footsteps. My lungs grow brittle and my feet scream in agony. I don’t stop. We make it to the city and scramble through the streets. Colors and stop lights blur together until all I see is her. Dogs lunge at us from the sidewalks. Taxi drivers curse us out but we keep going. Only once we arrive at the bleeding, throbbing heart of the city does she stop. We watch the cells of the city grow, and duplicate and fuse together. To the crowds she says, “Love me”.
So I love her. With my whole heart. I hold her hair when she gets too drunk, I wipe her tears with my own fingers. I watch every romantic comedy I can find, so I can teach myself to love her. I leave roses on her doorstep and weave tulips in her hair. I stay up past midnight counting every individual freckle on her face, memorizing them like stars. I take long walks of solitude and spend months writing poems, novels, epics, about her. I mess up, and cry, and forgive and forget. I keep every compliment she’s ever given tucked away inside my heart. I wear my shiny shoes because they're her favorite. I ask her father for permission and her grandmother for a ring. I love her. We watch our love blossom, and flourish and age. Then, to my lips, she says, “Kill me.”
So I kill her.
And as her limbs lay twisted, broken at uneven angles, I finally behold her face. But there is nothing there. Only a daisy, and a whispered “Thank you” in the wind.
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