To Remember

Part One

She is more beautiful than she has felt in weeks and weeks and weeks and a day. Her smile is more of a helpless expression of secrets than she has ever been able to put into her eyes for that one-take picture. Stretched to the limitless sky, her arms are a symbol of her emotion, an amazing sort of glory that only she can show.

"Are you ready, Kate?"

Her eyes open, and her smile drifts down, down, down to earth where we all live in shades of grey. She likes to believe she is a queen, somehow more beautiful in her mind than she is seen by the eyes of those she loves. She likes to live far, far away in the folds of her memories, safe and secure, too content to be afraid to come out.

The color of her fingers is a transparent sort of white as she reaches out. Her face stretches as she smiles, a cold sort of look, a death sort of feel. His fingers slip through hers and a little bit of life enters her eyes, like she's learned to breathe again. Tonight is not a night to worry. Tonight is a night to enjoy her presence, for her to enjoy his presence, to feel beautiful in a long dress and black lines around her eyes. That's all tonight is. Tonight is another memory to add to her mental library, a date to store and bring up when the sun goes away. But there's no need to think of it that way.

"I'm ready." Her voice is careful and light, beautiful like she's pretending she is. Her thin hair has been curled in an attempt to bring whatever sort of vibrance her expression used to hold back in.

He smiles. It's too easy to let her go, too easy to make her happy, to easy to bruise her hungry little heart. But it's okay tonight. Tonight is a memory in the making, and that's all that matters, all that will ever mean anything.

The floor spins beneath them, and the lights flash, and her eyes reflect back the colors in a mirror sort of fashion. Their gazes bounce back and forth between her mirrors and his, and that's all that will ever mean anything...

"Kate."

How many layers deep does one have to go? Which is the surface? How do you get back up? Her arms are wrapped around his neck, standing on her tiptoes, her face hidden against his neck. Everything that burns in her mind is current, a desperate camera struggling to remember every detail: the warmth of his body, the feeling of security that his arms pressing against her create, but why is it that she can never later remember what it feels like at that amazing, firework-filled moment when he kisses her?

"Why are you crying?"

This isn't the memory she wanted to make.

Everything spins, spins beneath her like the way she wants to dance, like the happiness she remembers feeling a long time ago. Everything spins, and she clings to the only constant in her equation, afraid to let go and fall down, down, down to the earth where we all live in shades of grey. And he doesn't know why, he doesn't know why she's crying, or why her little world is perfectly imperfect, or why she's holding on like she will never be able to let go... he doesn't know, but he doesn't need to know.

She kisses his cheek, but she is frantic now, afraid he is about to walk away and leave her with that feeling of emptiness that she doesn't know how to fill. She doesn't understand why she is so desperate to keep him there with her. She doesn't know why she feels like the light goes out when he's not there anymore. Her stomach tightens with something like guilt, but she's so used to it now.

It seems again that all that is necessary to make him understand is to tell him she's sorry, but she's said that so many times she wonders if he still believes her. She wonders if the writing on her hands means to him what it means to her. She wonders if the painful struggle that battles constantly beneath her ribcage is something he feels just as tightly as she does. She wonders if it's easier to run in a rull circle than a semi one, and she wonders where the other half of her circle went.

"Don't cry, Kate," he says. It's the only thing he knows for sure. "Don't cry. It's all going to be okay."

How many times has she heard those words? She closes her eyes and the colors flood back over her. It's too easy to give in, to let the dreams come back, to think that she's still wrapped up in his arms even when he's walked away to where she can no longer see his retreating shadow. It's so very easy.

And she is beautiful... more beautiful than she has felt in weeks and weeks and weeks and that day when he kissed her when the sun was shining.  Her arms around that solid statue where he used to stand, symbolizing her freedom, running forever in the fields of memories, drowing painlessly in old joys and old cautions. Maybe he's calling her back, somewhere up there in the sky, somewhere where everything isn't perfect. There's only one layer of perfection, and she doesn't want to leave anymore. She doesn't want his arms to leave her alone again, she doesn't want to cry in a corner where nobody is watching, she doesn't want to daydream about one more dance before she dies. She wants thinks to make sense. Here, here is where everything makes sense. Here she never has to admit to being selfish. Here she never has to cry, because everything is just how she wants to remember it.

She is so beautiful.

Part Two

It's been getting colder, but she doesn't care. She is desperate. She must stay here, here with her memories. She has kept them so well. Caution, precautions, everything necessary to keep everything in it's place, safe from rust and safe from age. Everything is correct. She can watch it again whenever she needs to. She can see that beautiful girl running to him again, and she can see him hold her close and she can hear her laugh. And she can watch them walk together, in that beautiful finished circle, hand in hand just like it feels like it's supposed to be. And she can see everything that has ever meant anything to her --  except for that firework-moment when he kisses her. She hasn't been able to see that. And it's getting colder.

Sometimes she thinks about waking up and feeling something real, but then she remembers that if she leaves, she won't be able to see any of this again. She'll go back to her harmful daydreams, the ones where she dies a slow death, the ones where she keeps reaching and reaching but can never quite take his hand. She'll have to go back to where she feels guilty for that strange thing they call love, and guilty for needing, and guilty for being anything less than what she calls perfect. She doesn't want to go back to feeling empty when he steps back and says goodbye. She doesn't want to feel her throat swell up and her eyes spill over with those burning bits of her soul. She doesn't want to feel cold again, and if she wakes up, she'll be cold. She'll be colder than she is now.

She tells herself that the images aren't fading. She's done so well at keeping them in good shape. When a detail was lost, she painted it back in, a romanticized version of a reality she had become afraid of. The rain from the sky must just be something she doesn't remember at the moment. The negative memories are just below the horizon, but she's kept the sun from setting.

She watches one more time. One last time. She means to stay, and watch it again, like a knife in her skin just to remind her that pain isn't in her mind. She watches that beautiful girl in his arms, and she smiles without meaning to. He looks so happy. She remembers him looking happy. The girl looks nothing like she feels like, but that's okay. Memories are never quite what really happened.

And she still doesn't see that firework-moment. She's never cried in here before, but the tears on her face refect everything she's cold without, everything that leaves the sky raining, everything as a grey shadow, everything that she thought she had built for herself.

"Kate."

She opens her eyes.

The daydream of one more dance drifts away immediately. It doesn't matter. She doesn't need it right now. She doesn't need the cold feeling of loss on her skin to remember what she has.

And he smiles.

Part Three

She is more beautiful than she has felt in weeks and weeks and weeks and a day. Her hair is down and feels free against her neck. She spins, and the world spins around her, and she lets it go. She doesn't need to hold on, there is nothing left to take her away. She doesn't go away anymore. Her memories dance in her mind, a recollection of everything that was and everything that maybe can be.

"Why are you crying, Kate?"

She spins again. She is beautiful. Beautiful...

"Kate."

Ironic, somewhat, how the only constant in her dreams was the one thing she was afraid most of losing.

"Are you ready?"

She turns, and her arms around his neck are her wordless apology, her silent smile, her request. She doesn't need to remember that firework-moment when he kisses her, because she doesn't have to stay with her functioning mind. She is no longer limited to what she can take in.

Maybe she'll remember this one.