My Feelings For You Only Grow
The more I read your diary entries, the more I realise I’m in love with you. You come across as sassy and sarcastic, bubbly and energetic, quirky and illuminating. You come across as so colourful that you ensnared me long ago.
I keep the diaries to myself. They were supposed to be evidence but I’m too selfish. I can’t bring myself to let another person see them. I want you all for me.
Besides, everyone already has access to your blog. That, and your Instagram posts. Everyone can read your thoughts, see your persona, stare at those Polaroids and wish they were in there, with you…
Sometimes, I wish I could reach into the screen and pull out the fragments of you, pull them into me to build you up again, to shield you from their undeserving gazes, their unappreciative glances. I want to dive into your virtual world and protect you, because then I’d...you and I would...
I imagine meeting you. I constantly imagine it - being friends with you, hanging out, eating your favourite dessert (the chocolate brownie ice cream sundae) at your favourite cafe (‘Mia’s Treats’- a small independent run by your cousin), working up the courage to ask if we could be more, going on dates…
Part of me is scared at how much it’s escalated. It impacts my work and has led me to do dangerous things. But by this point I can’t live without it - you. You’re a lifeline.
Trust me to fall in love with someone dead.
You’re so different to everyone I’ve ever met.
No, that’s a lie. I haven’t truly met you.
I never will.
It’s never been a problem with the others. Before, Superintendent Banks would hand me a case file and I would do my job - solve the murder - without falling head over heels for the victim. Though I must admit, it's been so very exhilarating with this new addition. I’ve never hated so strongly before, never felt so eager to track someone down, never felt so thrilled by the prospect of revenge. Oh - I suppose I should have said ‘justice’ there. You see that, dear? It’s different, with you. You captivate me. It’s a testament to how special you are.
It’s a testament to my love for you.
I remember how beautiful you looked when you were lying in the morgue. Death became you. The pale glow that it gave you was enchanting. You were at peace, a stark contrast to your exuberant look when alive. Death opened up a new side to you, and I could feel myself falling even more. I guess I’ve always been enthralled by these concepts, by these abstract ideas that seem so artistic and deep. Even the mere thought of it - that death makes my love for you stronger - seems so poetic, doesn’t it?
Perhaps what’s more poetic is that I was still moved at your funeral. You had asked to be cremated, so there was no zombie bride. Just ash. It had boggled my mind to think that you had once taken up so much space and yet were now contained in a little ceramic pot. Not that either of us remained in our respective states (me: incredulous, you: urn-bound) for too long. They blew your ashes out at sea, just as you had requested, and it makes me smile to think I could be breathing in a piece of you. Wherever I go, I imagine you are with me. I envision you trailing behind me, a protective aura around me forever.
You’ll be pleased to know, my love, that I was there for your scattering, too. After the funeral, they invited me along. They were immensely grateful to me, you see. Said it was only right seeing as I had apprehended your killer. Your Auntie Margaret couldn’t stop talking about it.
‘I heard he was already dead by the time you found him. I heard he looked awful, too. Fingers missing, eyes gouged out, multiple stab wounds - really awful. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’ I said simply. She nodded, and for a while, neither of us said anything.
‘I have to thank you.’ She spoke suddenly. I tilted my head, waiting for her to continue.
‘Although somebody got to him first, and they…’
Here, she trailed off, mumbling something about the disturbing level of violence. Can you believe that, darling?
‘You’re the one that found the evidence proving it was him. You’re the one that held him to account, without stooping to his level. So, thank you.’
I smiled - one of those small smiles, the type that wavers, that is strained, bogged down by the weight of unimaginable experiences but glad too, glad because in spite of everything, something has been achieved. The type of smile that oozes understanding. I’m an expert at delivering them, having practised in front of a mirror, having given them to heaps of faceless family members.
Inside though, I couldn’t help but feel agitated, because he hadn’t been hurt enough, there’s no way he’d been hurt enough, he should have been hurt more more more...
Initially, I’d been so excited about getting the chance to send you off. That day though - it was too much. Too overwhelming. I’m ashamed to admit it. The pain was too raw; how could I have lost you before I’d even had you? I was jealous of everything. How dare they all cry when they’d had the honour of knowing you? Bitterness engulfed me as I watched you flutter down, down towards those murky depths. I wanted to set fire to the sea because it should have been me. I should have been the one embracing you, caressing you, fusing with you for the rest of time. It would have been like marriage, but stronger. Till death do us part. As if I’d let a pesky thing like death get in our way.
Longing had consumed me. Longing and desperation. All of a sudden, your voice - sweet, angelic, mischievous, sly - filled the space. I was convinced you were calling out to me. When I heard your voice, it all became clear. I knew, then, that you wanted me to join you, to transcend to the next level of life. I would sink, and though I’d struggle, thrash, my muscles constricting as water annihilates me from the inside out, I would welcome it. You. My very own siren. My body would become bruised, battered, blue - enduring anything, to be with you. We would have eternity all to ourselves.
Turns out the voice I’d heard was the video they’d been playing to commemorate you - a montage of all your best moments. I don’t know how I had forgotten about it when they had shown me your itinerary. Scattering at sea, followed by a viewing ceremony. I was so lost in my own mind that I had imagined a whole future with you but it was fake fake fake, all fake...
I arrived just in time to watch the final few minutes, and berated myself the whole way through. Why would I go to such great lengths to destroy myself just to indulge in a mere fantasy? I’d drown, and then what? My reanimated corpse would rule over some underwater palace with you - a being of ocean and ash parading around as my beloved? What nonsense. Some parts of you may have settled into the sea, sure, but not all of you. There are fragments of you flying free, dearest, and I must hold onto this fact. You’ll be able to sense my love; you’ll be drawn to me. And that is how we’ll be together. A reality with you is infinitely better than anything my mind could conjure up. In a way, I’d been unfaithful to you. You can blame grief for that.
I have to trust you. Honour our love. I’ll wait. It won’t be difficult - you’re everywhere, after all. Following me, close to me, glued to my side, whispering softly in my ear, gently, lovingly. I know you’re here - inside me, even. Fancy that - it’s easier to be together, with you dead. Don’t you find that interesting, darling?
Forgive me, I do not mean to upset you. It frustrates me too, believe me. I will never forgive that vile vermin who dared touch what was rightfully mine. But I must look on the bright side. You valued optimism, and hope, above all else. So I know you understand me. Death only strengthens our bond.
And soon I’ll join you. Properly. When I die, I’ll ask to be cremated too. I can picture our ashes joining, trailing the world together, forever. I see us merging, fusing, our essences combining, becoming intertwined like we were always meant to be.
But for now, I have to stay content with this - this mix of together and apart. Of course, I nicked a piece of you to keep with me always. I’m sorry, my love, but I could not leave it down to chance. I carry you in my locket - you rest upon my heart. Isn’t that romantic?