Ghost Butterflies
🎧 Wait by M83.
We were ten when you first told me you didn’t believe bears loved honey.
We had just finished watching “Winnie the Pooh.”
I asked you why, and you shrugged, saying you loved honey and you were not a bear.
I remember our mothers laughing behind us at what you said, but I frowned because I loved Winnie the Pooh and I loved you, but I didn’t know who to believe.
It was raining when you held my hand to urge me to run to shelter.
For the first time, my heart sped up and my hands sweated despite the rain.
I didn’t know why.
It was Christmas.
Because you loved socks, I gave you the socks I knitted in your favourite colour.
You gave me 2 novels and a pretty journal with a Winnie the Pooh theme.
I joked about never opening the journal because it was too pretty to use now.
And you just grinned.
I laughed when you tried to dance during karaoke but slipped.
It was dark until you sang along to Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood.
You couldn’t see it, but you lit up the whole room for me.
A boy named Ezra asked me out on Valentine's Day with roses.
You stepped between us, took the flowers, and ran away.
Torn between laughing and getting upset, I tore after you.
I didn’t see you in class for the rest of the day.
I wanted to say thank you.
I was allergic to flowers, and you knew it would have been weird to say that to Ezra.
You giggled when I told you I had a crush on you.
It was New Year’s Eve, and I wanted to start the new year fearless.
Then you told me that the feeling wasn’t mutual.
I was about to flee when you kissed my forehead and told me you loved me.
It was not mutual because you’ve loved me since we were six.
It was not mutual because you love me, and I was just realising my feelings for you.
When it was time to go home, you asked me if I really didn’t open that journal because it was too pretty.
I answered no.
And you laughed and laughed and laughed.
At home, I ran to my room and tore open the journal.
There, written in plain sight, was “I love you. Not like how Christopher Robbins loved Winnie the Pooh, but like how Noah Calhoun loved Allison Hamilton. Madeningly and till death do us part.”
My heart flew all the way to you, and it stayed with you.
It didn’t matter that I could hardly sleep because I kept making up stories about us.
On the morning of the New Year, my stomach hurt because of the elephant stampede in it.
When our mothers found out that we were going out, they cried.
Of course, they cried.
Their dream came true, and it was the best day of their lives.
It was hard seeing you off at the airport.
I fell sick and couldn’t write the university's admissions test.
You begged me, your mom, and everyone who cared to listen that you wanted to wait too.
But we knew, your scholarship would suffer it.
I loved you but I had to let you fly high too.
You broke into tears while I cleaned them because I had to be strong for both of us.
One year, and we would be together.
One more year.
We wrote emails to each other every day.
I was your earth, and you were my moon.
You told everyone you were friends with that the love of your life was coming soon.
I told your name to each star that I saw.
You refused to study alone, so we would video call each other.
I had to appear tougher, so you wouldn't lose concentration.
I missed you, but I wouldn’t cry.
You missed me, and you would cry.
Three more months, and you would be home for Christmas.
It was going to be a season to be jolly, indeed.
I decided I was going to hang 355 mistletoes to make up for the time we spent apart.
You wouldn’t stop smiling when I told you.
We all screamed when I received my admission letter in the mail.
My hands were shaking with joy when I called you.
You were in the library, but you let out a sound between a sob and laughter.
Next year, I will read beside you in the university’s library.
You will be in year two, studying Aeronautical Engineering.
And I will be in year one, studying English.
There are three more weeks until you are home.
The world tilted when I was walking to the coffee shop.
One minute I was breathing in the cold air, and the next, I was staring blankly at the sky.
Where?
What?
How?
Help.
Please help me.
The voices were distorted.
Everywhere was stark white, and there was a constant beeping sound in the background.
It was a dream?
No, no, no. It wasn’t.
I was in a hospital bed.
Our families were listening intently to the man in a white coat.
The doctor said something to them, and my mom collapsed against my dad, wailing.
What is this?
What is happening?
It was a rare case.
The brain tumour had hidden itself well.
I showed no symptoms.
It was too late, they said.
You will have to say your goodbyes.
I asked Mom about you.
She said you flunked your exams to travel back home.
The snowstorm kept you at the airport.
You couldn’t wait, so you hitched a ride home.
My love.
I will fight to see you.
Before I go, I will see you and tell you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Today I woke up, knowing it was time.
My bones were so weak.
My head pounded.
The pain had made me numb.
I can’t last long.
My love, where are you?
Where?
Where?
I felt it when it happened.
I just knew.
I wasn’t there when the truck hit the side where you sat in the car.
I wasn’t there when your car flew and hit a tree.
I wasn’t there when they brought you to this very hospital.
I wasn’t there when your mom screamed until her voice went hoarse.
I wasn’t there when they tried to save you.
I wasn’t there when they declared you dead.
I wasn’t there.
But I knew you were dead the moment the truck hit your side.
I knew that you died without feeling the slightest pain.
I knew this pain I was feeling was all mine.
My love, my love, my love.
They wheeled you into my room.
It was my last wish.
I still had to see you.
I am glad I did.
I got the last look, kiss, and touch.
In that moment, the world was you and me.
The world was just you and me.
You were meant to fly, my love.
Fly high. Fly high. My butterfly.
But you wanted to fly with me.
My love.
I cried then.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I will be up with you in a moment.
First, let me see you.
Let me see you.
