After All, You Do Know Best

She remembered him as hollow. Eyes that stared but never focused. Unblinking.

She remembered him as a statue. Body slumped over, frozen still. Unmoving.

She remembered him as small. Defeated posture, shoulders hunched, head down. He fit perfectly in her arms.

She remembered him as weak. Hands that clung to her arm like he couldn't let go, hands that fumbled and couldn't find a grip. Hands that couldn't hold on.

She remembered him in her arms, holding on as tight as she dared, hands smoothing over his clothes, his hair, his hands.

She remembered him as messy. Hair mussed, tie crooked, jacket rumpled. She made him perfect again.

She remembered his cold tears colour her skin, icy tears of empty aching. Mourning for what he never had.

She remembered him as cold. Skin chilled, body trembling. And she couldn't make him warm.

She remembered him as breathless. Chest straining against her light hold, never getting enough air. Especially when she let go.

She remembered him as heavy. His full weight leaning on her, begging her to hold him up. He let her have him.

She remembered him as the burning scent of alcohol. Sharp, sad, smothering. But she could still smell his skin.

She remembered realizing he was asleep, or passed out. Limp in her arms, no movement at all. She laid him across her bed, curling her body around him.

She remembered watching his chest move as he breathed. She kept count, making sure. He would make it through the night.

She remembered trailing a feather-light touch across his cheek. Smooth skin, still too chilled, remnants of tears. But at least he was really there.

She remembered pushing hair from his face. Innocence unmasked in sleep. She hoped he had good dreams.

She remembered waking up to a paper. His neat handwriting, meticulous, planned. Don't look for me.

The only thing she didn't remember was falling asleep. No memory of her last glimpse of him. Her only look into him.