Please Forget My Love

She was his, and then she wasn't, and he didnʼt think he could ever get over this new fact. It had all been an accident but he couldnʼt help but be angry. At who, he didnʼt know, but he had become constantly nauseous, and headaches came more and more. What was worse was the pain to the left of his chest. That indescribable pain that he somehow couldnʼt cleanse, could destroy, could never be rid of. It traveled with him. He could no longer produce tears.

The grass stuck into his leg, but he didnʼt brush it away. Some flying thing buzzed around his head but he wouldnʼt swat at it. All he did, all he ever did, was sit, legs crossed on the grave, her grave, and stare at the headstone. He would read the engravings making sure they said what he thought they said.

Alicia Spint

1998–2016

Loved by many

He almost never left the marking, and by now the grace where he sat everyday had yellowed, from lack of sun. He was determined to never let her go. To mourn her forever, because that was the kind of attention she deserved.

Then he felt a pressure on his spine, one that he hadnʼt felt in months. A soft touching.

Shasta whipped his head around and could almost see… he thought he saw… Nevermind. He turned back to the headstone, his back hunched. Hallucinations; he had expected nothing less. Then a soft whispering in his ears. Shasta.

He fled to his feet, scrambling wildly. The voice sounded too familiar.

“Whoʼs there?"

He looked around expectantly. He wiped at his face, raw from crying.

"Where are you?"

Nothing but the wind bending the grasses, and the rubble of other headstones. Can you hear me Shasta?

She was nowhere. The whispers were in his head.mHis eyes tried to cry again but couldn't. He could feel them straining and it hurt.

"Ali?" He whimpered. He throat was closing up, he barely breath. It was too good to be true. It wasnʼt true. He had to convince himself of that. Believing would only lead to disappointment. Shasta. The voice cried. This couldnʼt be true, it couldn't. He crashed to his knees, and he cried out. Shasta, please do not cry for me. He couldnʼt help it. I canʼt bear it. Your sadness. His eyes continued to search for her everywhere. He could almost see her. Glimpse her in places, but every time it was nothing. It wasnʼt real. It couldnʼt be. Please forget me. She said. Please be happy again.

And then she was right in front of him. There faces were so close. She had tear stains the gleamed on her cheeks as the sun hit them. Pieces of her hair was falling out of her braid. Then she took his hand. Her fingers were cold and clammy. Never cry for me again. She said.

Then she closed her eyes and looked away. What was she doing? Why was she here? His mind was filled with questions, but none of it compared with his overwhelming desire to kiss her.

She cried as she raised her hand to his face, still not looking at him, crying even harder now. Never cry for me again, Shasta. She said, without moving her lips.

"Alicia-”

Her icy fingers touched to his temple and he forgot his desire, he forget his questions, he forgot his sadness. There was no girl. He looked down at the grave next to him, confused and tired.

What was he doing here? He hated graveyards, though he didnʼt know why. He stepped over the grave, glancing curiously at the single spot of yellow grass, then walked home. Maybe heʼd watch a film.