to one hundred.

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I tore the plastic wrap suffocating the designs. I spread the tiny glow-in-the-dark pieces on the unmade bed. As I inhaled the fading sweet scent coming from the blue sheets, my skin collapsed through the strands of lucid dreams we made.

In the car drives at midnights, I would roll down my window and place my arm on the surface. For a little while, I would rest my chin on my arm and gaze at the city’s trance and its passing, little lights. I would realize then you had my hand against yours—your thumb quietly drawing small circles on my flushed skin. I would turn to you and just like my guess, you would already have your lips twitched upward. Besides the sound of the rushed cars and the gusts of the cold, winter breeze, there only lived the pleased silence coiled around the unspoken words.

After I glued the last piece, I switched on the light of my room. The abrupt brightness caused me to look down, to notice the necklace of your ashes hanging around my neck. I did not hate you and I would not. I would not find out the real reason why you needed to race through the speed limit to get to me, but it kept me breathing to just think the reason was the call I made to you after my anxiety spiked.

I turned off the light and there they were, attached to my ceiling. In one of our midnight rides, when we stopped at a gasoline station for a break and decided to lie down on your car’s roof, you reached for my hand as we watched the thousand stars in their cosmic bed and you pointed to the dark sky through your other hand. “You can always find me in one of those. If you’re having an attack and I’m not answering the phone, go outside and look above, even if the sky is clear. Close your eyes and just count to one hundred—I’ll make sure I’ll come to you between one of those numbers and before you say the last one.”

Two months after the accident, I still counted to one hundred, even when I just looked at the stars, hoping for your return. I lay on my bed and stared at the stars on my ceiling. I began to count without expectations.

Before I reached the hundredth, I wondered if you would still remember from afar how I memorized your lips forming the ways you pronounced my name and how you told me we did belong in the galaxy of stars.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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