Cemetery

I talk about her as if she is dead, but to be honest, I really don't know.

She could be. That is a possibility, but it is something I doubt. I don't know. She could have been hit by a car. Could have been struck down with cancer. There are so many horrible things that could have happened to her. It doesn't matter.

I know she is alive. Living. Without me.

It's just me, leaving stones to trace my steps, so her ghost can find me. It's just me, marking her grave along the edges of my memories. I bury her, these traces, in this cemetery, all in an effort to keep her alive.

I left China with almost nothing. Rather, nothing of real importance. I had clothes, shoes, money, whatever. I threw those in a suitcase and didn't look back as they were carried away by a conveyor belt. The important things, I kept on my body.

"It's colder there," she said to me. "This is for you." She handed me a little bag.

"Thanks."

"Here, lemme help you open it!" She tore into the bag, digging through the tissue paper flowers that I could tell, took her the night to make. She always liked opening presents, whether they were hers or not. "Lean forward!" she commanded, as she wrapped the present around my neck. "I knit this for you," she smiled proudly. "Wear it and think of me! Now, go, you have to catch your plane."

I hugged her one last time. I wanted to cry, leaving her like this, smelling so sweet, feeling so soft. "I love you," I said to her.

"Mm," she replied back. "Now go, stupid. You're always late!" I laughed and started to walk away.

"Oh!" she shouted, "Wait!" I turn back and she's smiling at me, sweetly, proudly. "If you even look at another girl, the scarf will kill you in a second. Don't even think about it!"

I should have went back, kissed her. That might have made a difference. I should have ran back, and told her that it would never happen. I should have visited, should have stayed.

Sometimes, we dig our own graves.