Lovecraft | For so long I couldn’t walk down the pier. It reminded me of you.
Sometimes you meet someone that makes you feel like you’re the only ones in the world. It’s just you, and them. In our case, it was literal.
Well, unless you count the zombies…
Every relationship is an opportunity to build something spectacular. And a good one is a partnership. But what were we building? Why were we building?
This was our chance to create whatever we dreamed. Yet here I am, walking through an empty lighthouse at the end of the pier with a sting in my chest. The irony is that in a world meant for building, we never had anything more but a crumbling foundation.
This was an escape.
I should have seen the warning signs. They’re apparent to me more than ever now that you’re gone. The way you laid things out. The fact that the sound of trees slamming against the ground were but faint echoes by the sea, rather than thunderous claps near the mountainside mansion I was carving for us.
This was not a partnership.
In our day to day lives we shared a home, we shared our bodies, we shared a bed. But here we spent hours side by side, miles apart, and not a word said.
Isolated from everyone, lost deep in ourselves, we worked, we gathered, we scurried about crafting our little world like mice on Venus. Your problems with me became a familiar sound, like the banging of stone on wood, our very own subwoofer lullaby. A song that I could no longer bear to hear.
It took a long time before I could come back here, but I’m glad I did. One last walk before it was taken to the clouds to live only as a digital memory. One last walk through the garden. Still perfect, as if frozen in time. One last walk through everything we made.
It’s getting dark and there’s a distant hiss that has me worried.
It’s time I left before all the scary things surface, the things that made us start building in the first place.