This was inspired by the song 'When You Loved Me' by Juliana Hatfield. I think the lyrics really describe how Mary felt when she was all alone, in the hospital, engulfed by her sickness.
I hope you enjoy. (:
Why can't I taste you, James?
I remember how good you tasted- like my favorite pastry. Every day, I'd get my fill of those delicious cream cheese danishes. The tip of my tongue on fire. Passion and beauty etched across your horizon. I could read you so well. You were captivated by me.
Now my mouth is dry. I can't eat anything without feeling nostalgic or remorseful. I want chocolate and blueberries and cinnamon toast. Hell, give me a slice of pizza and a bottle of beer. We'd be at your ideal bowling alley with your best buds. You didn't have a lot of friends, but the friends you had were your closest. I liked those nights. We'd come home drunk and reckless. But you never tasted horrible- never like vomit.
You don't taste like anything anymore.
Why can't I hear you, James?
Your adorable voice was my favorite song. It was the soundtrack to my life. You were the narrator of my biography.
Whenever you called my name, I'd close my eyes. I'd note the way you said it. You could be cross or sad or lost. But I never wanted those instruments to accompany your vocal talents. I savored the times you were happy or content or aroused. Oh, the other things you said- the noises you made- when you were aroused. You'd cradle my back with your large hands and you'd whisper sweet and magical poetry into my ear.
Sometimes, however, you'd let go and ask how rough I wanted it.
As hard as you can muster. I want to feel all of you against me.
But you don't say anything to me anymore. I can't say anything back. There's no point. It's tiring, always feeling useless and stale.
Why can't I smell you, James?
I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I'm not asking this because you smelled so foul that your stench was recognized a mile away. You're no skunk, James. At least, not in this way.
Ha. I'm funny.
You're too serious. I've had to remind you on more than one occasion to lighten up. Have you yet?
Do you still have that cologne you used to wear? Well, I'm telling you now, I never liked it. I like your natural scent. You were like metallic soup. It was an odd combination, but you made it so desirable. I'd get you before you had a chance to spray that awful disguise all over yourself. It masked you, James. I don't like masks.
When you came to visit me in this terrible place, you never had your cloak. You never played dress-up. I couldn't tell if it was because you didn't care anymore or if you knew how much I hated that liquid cloud you surrounded yourself with. You made my room smell like you. You never left me unless (until) I told you to.
I can't smell. Nothing worth smelling at least.
You aren't helping at all.
Why can't I feel you, James?
Numb was how you made me feel. It was a comfortable loss. My fingertips were blue and red from your hot touch.
We used to be careless. There was no one else in the world but us. We lived on us.
I remember the first time we had sex. It was cloudy outside, but it wasn't going to rain. The sun could barely be seen, and the rays that managed to bleed through the windowpane were blinding. We couldn't wait for nightfall, though it was just on the verge.
It was a strange day.
We acted as if we had already memorized each others' naked bodies. Every centimeter, every crevice, every contour. We left nothing alone. Biting and licking and kissing. Tender, slow, thoughtful. I didn't want to disappoint you. Do I disappoint you now?
We weren't done until early the next morning. The imprints we left on that bed were always there, reminding us of our love- our intimacy. We never forgot that feeling every time we fell into our saccharine caresses. You were the greatest feeling I've ever had.
But that's gone now. The numbness won't cease, and it's a throbbing pain.
You refuse to accept how I feel. Our imprints have long since vanished. It's as if they were never there.
Why can't I see you, James?
My dreams were once crawling with you. Recently, though, you've been invading my nightmares. I think I've lost you, and I never wanted that to happen. Your handsome face, the careful, cautious way you walked, your shy and reserved personality. I saw that more than the average person chooses to see their loved one's, if they were lucky enough to share themselves with someone else, qualities. People love to dwell on the negative. I don't see any of you anymore.
You made my demons run away with their tails between their legs. You protected me. You cherished me. But then I saw how you changed when I changed. That glow you embodied had dissolved- you didn't try to cheer me up or lie to make me feel better. I know I don't like it when people lie- I don't think anyone does- but I needed you to lie to me. I need you to lie to me. Then I could leave peacefully and hopefully. Then I can leave willingly.
I couldn't stand to see you when we were told I had to stay in this dreadful realm that tastes, sounds, smells, feels, looks like nothing. So I yelled at you. Told you to get those flowers that don't taste, sound, smell, feel, or look like you out of my face. They were harbingers of death. They didn't tell me everything was going to be all right. Neither did you.
Then you stopped coming. I told you not to waste your time with me, deteriorating right before your eyes. But I was scared. I really didn't want you to go. I wanted the old you back. The old us.
Tell me, James. Do you still love me?
Lie to me if you have to. Please. I'm all alone here.
Come back. Make it our world one last time.
I love you.
I miss you.
It just...
It hurts.