discarded memories

i tried to find the pieces of you in everyday things. i collected bits of old lace, pages ripped from your diary, wax from the candles you used to burn your bridges, and tea leaves. i thought that if i put them all together, you'd come back to me somehow. i made up my own rituals, singing and dancing around the discarded pieces of your soul.
when i stopped dancing and opened my eyes, the illusion of magic vanished. you were still gone, and i was just an old lover dancing around a pile of garbage. rather than admit defeat, i decided to try harder. i ran frantically through the apartment we used to share, searching for more lost pieces of you. i found the dead stem of a dandelion you'd told me to wish on, the cologne you mixed yourself that smelled distinctly of you, the ring you refused to take off even after it turned to brass (and yes, i'm still wearing mine, too). but it didn't seem like enough. my collected fragments sat together in a pitiful pile. all my memories of you, incarnate.
and that's when it occurred to me what was missing: the pieces of you that i didn't remember, the pieces you never let me know until the end. a shard of glass i took from the scene of the accident. the newspaper that covered the story of your death. the suicide note.
i gathered my shrine into a silk bag and left the apartment without my purse. i don't remember if i locked the door. i do remember the sun, mocking me with its warm golden hues. i remember putting one foot in front of the other, though i don't remember how many times. i don't remember the sun dipping behind the trees and staining the sky the colour of wine, but i remember how beautiful it was. i remember the first star visible against the indigo expanse above me. i remember wishing on it that you would come back.
what i remember most, though, is when i arrived at the bridge that you steered your car off of. i could see the slightly off-coloured section, newly replaced, where you broke through the guardrail. i wondered what you thought about as you stepped on the gas, jerked the wheel, careened over the edge. did i come into your mind? perhaps that's selfish. perhaps there was only room in your heart for release.
i took out the suicide note, and then dumped the rest of the bag's contents down the side of the cliff to follow you. the pieces of your soul finally reunited, i unfolded the note to read one last time.

april 15
dearest,
i'm so sorry to leave you. i truly do love you. i always have, and i always will. but i'm so trapped. perpetual darkness creeps in a bit further every day, and i can't handle it anymore. i'm not strong like you. i can't handle the shadows.
remember how i taught you to wish. take every chance. candles, dandelions, 11:11, shooting stars, eyelashes, the first star of the night. never stop wishing. i hope i taught you to believe.
i love you now and forever.

i could feel my throat becoming tighter, the burning behind my eyes that meant tears were coming. i'd read the note so many times, i thought i was immune to its power. i was wrong. a sob shook me, and i folded the letter into a tiny paper crane. you said that if i folded one thousand of them, i'd get any wish granted. but as i dropped the crane off the bridge, i knew that i would never again wish to bring you back. i only wished that you were finally free of the darkness.
i turned to walk home. my task was finished. your soul was reunited today, april 15th. one year from when you wrote that note.

the only problem is that you died in november. sometimes i wonder if you left that note on your desk every day, in case that was the day you couldn't take it anymore. other times, i think you must have simply forgotten it there, and your death really was an accident. but either way, i know you're free of the darkness now. and that's as close as i'll ever come to being okay with it.