the measure of my cup

cannot hold,

though in the negative

I see its ample

curve and mold,

like the world

pressed against

the bottom of

the universe,

and the itch

in my palm

to assess

my lifeline

is overwhelming

from time to time

I can only

stir,

a word

a line

in the ocean

of my emotion

that overflows

in this body

that is

never

really

mine

2020 APR 07

“I love you.”

That’s what I would have liked to hear.

Those three words.

I had uttered the words to her so many times. So many times.

I.

Love.

You.

I meant them every time I said them.

And God, for so long, I just wanted to hear her say them to me.

She loved me, she made a point of showing that to me. She would shower me in acts of love, in long kisses after work and soft singing hums late at night when I couldn’t sleep. She didn’t need to say the words aloud for me to know them. Still, I would have liked to have heard them in some way, in her voice like birdsong.

But she was scared. Scared of what people would think. I’ve always thought that she believed that if she said the words aloud, it would all be released and the entire world would know. It sounds paranoid, but she had reasons. Her family had been staunch Catholics for generations, and to be honest, I didn’t blame them for their disdain. They had been brought up in those beliefs for centuries. Centuries of learning takes a long time to go away. So I understood why she was nervous. And so, I waited. I waited for her to say the words to me as time passed, as we spent late nights together, kissing, happy, free.

We could be free together in the safety of the night. When the shadows of the world mask faces, when all shapes morph together into collective groups, neglecting color and backgrounds.

I can’t lie, I had noticed she was becoming shyer around me. How she would nervously hold my hand, even at night. How she sometimes wouldn’t look at me when I held her in my arms as we watched the evening news. Some optimistic part of me hoped that this change was somehow good, that it meant that what we were doing was becoming more normal. I then remembered: Christmas.

The holiday was approaching rapidly. On Christmas, she would always go to visit her family. I hoped that she was planning to tell her family about us, and I told myself that was the reason she was nervous. I knew it would hurt her. But I had constantly told her that when it hurt, I would be there for her, always. I would hold her as long as she needed.

We wanted to get married someday. Hopefully, someday soon.

While she was packing for go home for Christmas, I came home from work to see a handful of lilacs on the kitchen table. They were a deep shade of purple and smelt of beauty and love. That was all the confirmation I needed. I went to the bedroom, where she was folding a blouse, and I hugged her from behind before pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck, silently telling her that I understood what she was going to do. When we walked together to the door, she gripped my hand in hers. And then, when she walked out the door, she kissed me deeply.

“I love you,” I told her.

She smiled back at me, and in my head I could actually hear her voice saying the three words to me.

She stayed with her family for a week. I didn’t mind spending the holiday by myself. I had done it before.

She was supposed to come back home during the day on Monday, when I would be at work. I had missed her in the few days that she had been gone. I missed her presence next to me. I missed her light breathing while she was sleeping. I missed waking up to the sounds of her wandering around the kitchen, preparing tea. I liked my tea warm, she preferred hers cold. Because of this disparity, she would get up much earlier than I to brew some English Breakfast and put her half in the fridge while keeping my half on the stove. I missed her, but I kept myself company with the vase full of the lilacs she had put on the table, the crystal glass scintillating in the filtered sunlight as it sat on a windowsill in the kitchen.

She hadn't called me while she had been gone, but that didn’t surprise me, her family had surely kept her busy. I was looking forward to getting home at the end of the day so I could finally see her, hear her.

Imagine my surprise when my phone began buzzing on my office desk, the screen lighting up with the familiar “<3” of her contact. I answered quickly and held the phone up to my ear.

“Hey, baby,” I said.

God, if I had known what I was going to hear on the other end of that line.

If I had known, I wouldn’t have gone to work that day. I would have stayed at home, waiting for her.

I should have known.

“Esme,” she whispered my name, and I could hear her heavy breathing. My blood ran cold immediately. “Esme, please.” She sounded like she was crying. And judging by the surrounding noises, she was somewhere loud. Windy.

At this point, I had already grabbed my jacket from my chair and was running to the exit, my heeled shoes echoing off the walls. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I asked frantically. My heart was pounding in my chest. She wasn’t one to get upset easily. I might be one who would burst into tears at a simple broken teacup, but not her. She was built to be strong.

“My family…” she said with a gasp. “I told my family, Esme.”

“Where are you?” I asked frantically, now outside the building and running to my car.

“I told my family, and they hate me now,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. My heart broke as I listened to her cry. I jumped into my car and turned on the ignition, deciding to go back to our apartment. That’s where she would have gone, right? Home? Her real home? After all, home was were people that loved you were, right?

“Baby, calm down,” I told her, trying to keep my shaking voice steady as I began to drive. “Just take a deep breath and talk to me.”

In that moment, some part of me knew that something bad was going to happen. Buy me some time, I begged the Lord. Just get her to talk to me, until I can be there with her. I wish that I had known that just minutes sooner.

“I… I can’t,” she sobbed out. “Oh God, Esme, the looks on their faces… they were disgusted. Horrified.”

Please, God, I begged.

“Esme,” she cried out my name like it was the last thing in the world keeping her sane. “Esme, I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears blurred my vision as some invisible knife lodged itself in my heart. “No, no,” I chanted in a thick voice. “No, you can’t leave me…” I started crying loudly, which I could tell only increased her own crying. “I love you!” I practically screamed out those three holy words, the words that could change the fate of everyone that heard them.

The cacophony of noises on the other end of the line increased. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. “So much.” She laughed a breathy chuckle. “I would never try to leave you, Esme. I just can’t take this anymore. I need it to end.”

“What are you saying?!” I howled the words as my car swerved in and out of traffic, the speed far above the posted limit in my desperate need to get to her.

“I’ll be going,” she said. “Take good care of yourself.”

The call ended.

I screamed.

What felt like an eternity later, I arrived at the apartment building. I don’t think I really parked, I think I just stopped the car before cutting the engine and jumping out.

I saw a crowd gathered near the main entrance. Uncaring what the commotion was about in my desperate need to get to her, I burst through the crowd, trying to get to the doors.

And then I saw it.

In some vague memory, I remember hearing screaming. Horrific, tear-your-ears out screaming that ripped my heart open. Screaming like the world was collapsing in on itself.

People have told me that it was me who was screaming.

I don’t remember doing it, but the possibility doesn’t surprise me.

Because "I'll be going, take good care of yourself," those were the last words she had said to me or to anyone else, because in that moment, I saw her beautiful body on top of a wrecked car, bleeding after jumping off the apartment building roof. Her eyes were open, and the look in those lifeless eyes was one full of pain and misery.

I have been told I screamed again as I ran to her. I jumped onto the indented car and cradled her still-warm body in my arms. Her blood was covering me, staining my blouse and skirt, and all I could think of was that the love of my life was dead. I kissed her soft lips, smearing the two different shades of our lipsticks together. I sobbed. I screamed. I buried my face in her hair, our shared shampoo scented like lilacs filling my senses. She used that shampoo because she knew I loved the scent, even though it was meant for long hair, like mine, not cropped, like hers.

As memories of her lightly pulling on my hair as we laid in bed together, of the vase of purple lilacs above us, of her smile as she left all flashed before my eyes, I kissed her unresponsive lips again. The kiss became more sloppy each passing second as I lost breath to gasping sobs and screams. I didn’t care what people thought of us. I didn’t care what names they were thinking of. It was, after all, their fault. Their societal judgments had killed her.

Their judgments of people who were in just one small way different than them had killed the true love of my life.

They took her broken body from my arms minutes later, and I had just enough time to gently close her eyes with my hand. She had been blessed with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Those people didn’t deserve to see the beautiful orbs that had so captivated me.

Bearly-eyed, I looked around at the faces of the surrounding crowd and I observed the mixture of expressions on their faces. There were some looks of sympathy, some of disgust, and others of contempt. As I looked at the faces, I understood what she had meant. She wanted it to end, and so she ended it.

As darkness began filling my vision and I began to lose my feeble grip on reality, I realized: she had said “I love you.”

Author’s Note: Lilacs are said to be the flower language for lesbian couples.

She died without knowing I love her.  She had so much pain at the end, I thought it was 

selfish to tell her about my feelings as she laid there in the oncology ward, retching uncontrollably from the medicine that was to make her better.

It all started when I answered the ad for a math tutor, she was in her senior year of college and needed this class to graduate.  She answered the door, and I was struck by her smile. 

As we went on, I'd steal silent stares.  We grew close over those weeks, we became friends too.  But then she started looking like she had lost a lot of weight in those last few sessions.  She had asked me to come to the doctor with her, because she was scared.  She said she had a feeling she knew what it was.

So I went with her, all the while, taking in those long silent stares as much as I could.  I didn't say anything then because she just needed a shoulder at that time.  A hand to hold on to.  And that's what I did till the end, held her hand, somehow, I felt like she knew.

She died without

Knowing I love 

Her

This unborn child

Of mine

I whispered love

But I can't

Be sure

She heard

Marie and I have been best friends for many years. Many movie nights with popcorn scattered all over the floor and both of us hysterically laughing. That was is high school. We are now both twenty-one years old and we still have nights like that, but we just watch Netflix and eat our dinner. Today she was different. 

I invited her over for breakfast that morning. We both made it together. Scrambled eggs, french toast, pancakes, bacon, and orange juice. A really big breakfast usually comes when we are together. After breakfast, we went out to go shopping. We arrived at a little cafe to get coffee. I of course do not like coffee, so I got a tea. As we were leaving the cafe, she got a phone call. I have no idea who it was from, but she seemed to be really upset. I tried to ask her about it, but she would get all shy and move onto another topic before I could question her. I just moved on and did not bother her any more. We went clothes shopping in a few stores. By then, it was noon and we decided to get lunch. We went to a cute place to get chicken sandwiches and lemonade. The food tasted amazing. After lunch, we moved onto home shopping. We got cute plates, house plants, and other various items to put around our homes. That took us and hour or two and then we got back in my car and drove back to my house. We watched some of the latest movies, chatted about them, and ate some food. All normal. She seemed normal and happy. After our fourth movie, it was going on midnight and she had to go home to her husky, Winter. He was probably worried because she was gone since nine in the morning. We said our good byes and she rushed to her car and drove off. About an hour later, I got a strange call from her saying to come over to her house, it will be unlocked. Once there, I found a note on Winter's cage.

Dear Joanne, 

You may not see me for a while. Things have been too hard on me. I know you have been such a good friend. You were my family and I enjoyed those nights on the couch, the mess in your kitchen after breakfast, and the joy we had while shopping. I just need a break. I need everything to stop. I booked a flight and will be back in a few weeks. Please take care of Winter for me. All of his things are in that cabinet in the corner. Thank you, again. I'll be going, take care of yourself.

Your Good Friend, Marie.

That's the last words she will ever say to me or to anyone else, because after that night, the police found her on top of a wrecked car. Someone had hit her on the way to the airport. All her pain was gone. All her worry was gone.

     The bustling of the city never ceased. It was a constant repeat of the past, and a solid premonition of what the future held. Buildings rose high above the streets, making each and every person small. Me? I was small to begin with, there was no need to be high up in a building. Who would notice me if they were up there? I gave a long sigh after looking up at the walls of glass stretching to the clouds. One day, I'd be able to get my music to reach those buildings. One day, I'll be off the streets and somewhere safe. Until then, I was stuck. Fixed in my place, like a cog destined to run a certain way until I aged and got replaced by a newer me. 

     A small bird flew through my vision and knocked me out of the daze. I straightened my worn wool jacket, the fabric filled with holes and weak patches. I walked to the edge of the sidewalk and rested upon the curb, setting my case down beside me. Sitting there, I removed my violin delicately. I inspected its wood, making sure each and every cord was in tune. I began my regular tune upon the violin's strings, playing it as best I could. 

     The tune wasn't sweet or beautiful, it was more of a promise. A promise to the heart that it'll be alright. That the pain wouldn't last forever, and the rain would pass. I gave it my soul, and thanked every hand that dropped a coin. By the end of the song, I had wept a few tears. Each time I played it, it brought back old memories of a family I no longer had. Wiping the sting from my eyes, I realised I had enough change to buy a fresh hotdog. I packed up my things carefully, making sure not to harm the violin or my bow, and hurried to a stand down the street. 

     "One hotdog please!" I asked the man behind the cart. He eyed me for a moment before grunting and lifting a hotdog off the grill. He placed it in a stale looking bun, but I didn't give it a second glance. I gave him my change and began my walk towards the fountain. This was going to be a great lunch, filled with joy and a filled stomach. Sadly, that lunch didn't happen the way I had planned it. 

     A tall businessman bumped into me as he passed, sending my hotdog clean out of the stale hard bun. I watched it as it bounced off the road, almost through the air in a slow jelly, before rolling into a gutter. For a moment I stood, stunned at the event. Then, a wave of sadness rolled over me. This wasn't the first time I had been bumped, or cheated out of lunch. I was certain it wouldn't be the last, either. Before I returned to my post at the corner, I took one more glance at the small grease stain the hotdog had made on the ground. 

     Then I returned to my position at the street corner, the violin back in my hands, ready for the song. The song that gave a promise, a promise that one day things would be better. One day, I would have something fresh to eat.

She died without knowing that I love her.  My only morning flower wilted by midday and fell by dusk, unseen yet by the shadowed words only night can cast light on; my small star burst to scatter herself across a galaxy not known to me, unnoticed yet by the words I wrote on the black in scribbled constellations.

She is gone now, and her last breath lingers like the last pale beams of moonlight in my looking glass after dawn; and yet, she could not even sink away into horizon without my love.  She is gone now, and her eyes have sunken to the blue of abyss, and her lips have parted into languishing petals whose scent now floats out the window.  Her pale hand in mine could be any, it seems, for in these final moments when I was to grant her light she only met blindness; and she died without known that I love her.

She died without knowing that I love her.

Without laying, warm and soft, on my chest.

No singing softly as she begins to stir.

Nor suckling sweetly at my breast.

Never hearing my whispers of affection.

No tender kisses on sweet creamy skin.

Broken promises of a Mothers protection.

A life ended without a chance to begin.

She died without knowing that I love her.

Without losing myself in her eyes. 

No sleepless nights that are a blur.

No soothing hungry cries.

Two hundred and seventy days of hope.

In just a few moments, torn apart.

Left in agony, expected to cope,

With empty arms, and an empty heart.

She died without knowing I love her.

I was finally ready to tell her how I felt. Hoping that I wasn't about to be rejected by the one person I love more than life itself. She died just as I was coming to realize what this feeling in the pit of my stomach, the ache in my heart all meant. I can't know right now if I will ever love again. It feels as though my other half has been ripped from me before we could even be connected. She was my best friend for so many years. I can't believe it took me this long to realize how I truly felt. Now I will always wonder if she felt the same about me. She was so pure of heart so kind to everyone. How can someone take away that kindness from this world. Her beautiful bright blue eyes, so full of emotion. Just gone. I will never know another soul with her beauty. I don't want to. I want to always remember her beautiful face, her giving heart, her kind nature. I don't want to forget how much I love her even if she died without knowing I do.