Merely 17, on the verge of a mental collapse, every night I'd take a stroll down the same path to a nearby park, the repetition would force me into a trance. . . and the crisp air would set my mind at a steady pace. I'd press my back to the cold concrete park bench. Hours would pass, and I'd think about how insignificant I was, and what little importance I had to this universe.
Often times I'd think of her, I'd wonder if she did the same; somewhere within the intangible space between us, across what had felt like unfathomable distance, the globe. Thought about all the possible letters, and how they may have simply sent to the wrong address. I thought a lot of things.
She was difficult, and her impact could not be covered, or cured, and most certainly not with time itself, and even time I did not give. But what is time anyway? There was a profoundness to her I could not grasp, but I craved it more and more; Everyday was a mystery, the more I felt like I knew the less I actually did. . . but there was one thing I was sure; she would kill, and she would die, for me.
Late one night at the beach, she pulled me down to the water just to stand out on the shore, and look through me. She said it was the reflection of the moon in my eyes, but I never quite understood it. I misunderstood a lot of things. . . like how someone could care so much for a no one like me. And so I did what I've always done so very well. . .I left. I loved her, I feared her, I wanted her. . . I left her. I've never told her that I regretted it.
Years have passed now, and I walk a different path, with a familiar trance, but more sullen than ever before. . . I think about how insignificant I am, so very minute. Then I think of her, and how important she was. I think of the unfathomable distance, the intangible space now just 6 feet between us.
There was one thing that I always knew for sure; she would kill, and she would die for me.. and that's what she did.
by Cherish A. Bjorkman
