Say You’ll Remember Me.

“Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset babe.”

Her dreams of him come often.

Sometimes, it’s of when they first met, under that radiant blue sky and gleaming sun. His smile was as bright as the evening stars; she can still remember the way his eyes had lit up at the sight of her. She could still remember the sound of his laugh, the way his hand felt in hers, the way he squeezed her shoulder to ease her nerves.

Other times, she dreams of the time after meeting. The time where they became close, where they’d talk nearly every day, texting or calling. They’d meet up before classes and go to lessons together; they’d have lunch between seminars. There are times when she dreams of when they’d been best friends. They’d meet up outside of university, they liked the same films and books, he took her to the theatre and she surprised him with tickets to his favourite band.

“Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams.”

She’d dream of the time where they’d stay up late talking, spending evenings in her tree house, and going to the beach together, to town campfires. She’d think of the times where he’d comfort her after a bad day, crying in his arms, or when he’d turn up at her house, soaking wet and sobbing, because his parents were arguing again.

And finally, she dreams of their first kiss, the way his lips had felt against hers, hesitant and soft, the way his hands felt on her hips and her hands in his hair. She remembers their first date, their last date and everything in between those amazing five years of being together.

“And his voice is a familiar sound, nothing lasts forever, but this is getting good now.”

But mostly, she dreams of losing him.

He’d been diagnosed too late, it had spread throughout his body, slowly killing him, tearing him away from her, the sun, the light, towards the dark and death.

She was with him, until the very end.

She’d watched him go from the happy, smiling man he’d been, to a frail, broken and lifeless shell of who he once was. They’d married in the hospital. She moved her things in there to stay with him, she fed him, helped him shower, changed his clothes, gave him medication, and supported him after all the operations and drugs. She was there to hold him through the dark nights, when he’d wake up crying. In the mornings, she’d read to him and before he went to sleep, she’d sing to him.

“You see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burnin’ it down; some day when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around.”

He was the most beautiful man, the kindest, gentlest, most caring person in her life. His green eyes still sparkled, he still smiled through his tears, and his hands were still warm against hers. He was skinny and sick, but she didn’t care about that.

She had never cared about how he looked.

Sure, he was handsome, but it was his laugh, his smile, his eyes, his voice, the way he looked at her, cared for her, supported her and enjoyed the same things, that’s what made her love him. It was the way he’d touch her, the way he’d read to her, the way he’d listen to her and cry when he was upset, leaning on her like she did to him, the way they argued over silly things, had discussions over politics and worried about job interviews.

Or, the way he’d make her laugh, the way he’d giggle over stupid things and mock her sarcastically, but only ever teasing. It was the way he made her feel, his personality, that mattered more. It would always matter more. Sure, she was attracted to him. But it was his heart that made her stay, tangled up in him and his warmth.

She would always love him.

He passed peacefully in her arms, her voice in his ears, “say you’ll remember me, standing in nice dress, staring at the sunset babe, red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams.”

And he would.

He would always remember her.

And one day, he’d be there, waiting for her, always for her.

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