a Book without a Face or a Spine

By Haleigh Dixon

When I search my mind to find the story of how we met, I come back with nothing but hazy images of bugs and trees and concrete next to a brick schoolhouse bathing underneath a canary yellow sun with fuzzy edges. As the years fade, it seems as if you simply appeared from particles that were electrically charged and highly reactive. We attracted each other like two hydrogen atoms in need of an electron - covalently bound with shaky stability - saving each other from becoming radioactive in the face of loneliness. Slowly you revealed yourself to be a star roaming the Earth in search of a constellation, an open book without a face but with more of a spine than I. Without You, the pieces to our puzzle are nonsensical. I take, and I take, and I take from the feelings lingering at the forefront of my heart. I only know of You what I think I know.

I know You as a puzzle with missing pieces. When I put you together, you form the image of someone who treated me kindly yet regarded me recklessly. You dug your way into my deepest, darkest crevices and illuminated them. You solemnized me with such affection that I was brimming with it, affection so true that it frightened me into unacceptance. You wanted me to love you absolutely, and I tried clumsily to return your loving embrace. When I had you lay your withering head against my weary shoulder, then and there, I knew I could never forget you. Now I am owned by our memories. At random points in the day, I refresh myself on the little things that had me fully, deeply. All I have in the recesses of my mind is a fleeting memorial dedicated to your frantic laugh, our knowing smiles, and stupid jokes that made passersby look at us as if we were crazy.

Today of all days, I can’t help but think the passersby were right. I was crazy. I was crazy for accepting your money whilst barely accepting your love. I was crazy for withholding my forgiveness in moments of anger. I was crazy for shrinking at times when I should have made myself big for you. I was crazy for sitting through tense silences born of jealousy and misunderstanding. I was crazy for letting you abuse my Blackness for your benefit while you marginalized me and reinforced my feeling of otherness. I was crazy for believing we would see the world together. I was crazy for thinking we would live together. I was crazy for thinking we would grow old together. I was crazy for opening my heart to you. I was crazy for loving you. I was crazy for letting you go. You were crazy enough to leave.

Now you’re gone. People have left me before. There were times when I desired it. There were times when I deserved it, but this feels different. When my dad left, I felt like I barely knew him; I resolved long ago that I didn’t need him. But I thought I needed you because you knew me, and I knew you, even if we were two lonely people clinging to each other the same way I cling to my headphones. You grew to be my Siamese twin. When you left, I felt that ghostly shadow again. Although I held your love dearly, now it has nowhere to return to. It's nearly 3:30 am, and I ponder if, in the end, did you leave me or did I leave you? Was this a relationship of convenience or conviction? I guess it doesn’t matter now. All that remains are should’ve, would’ve, and could’ve. I think back to my childhood, and as a 23-year-old woman, I realize that when my dad left, I longed for what should have been. Now that you have left, I long for what could have been.