History Is All You Left Me

by Adam Silvera

You’re still alive in alternate universes,

There’s also my counting thing, where I prefer everything to be an even number,

these compulsions might just turn out to be little quirks.”

Maybe I’m not just some delusional kid with a neck tic

“It’s been freaking me out a little bit, like I don’t know who I’m going to be in the future. I’m scared something can grow from this and turn me into a Griffin who’s too complicated for you to be friends with in a few years.”

Delusions run on my mother’s side of the family.”

I should tell him how much I appreciate the way he’s been gravitating to my right lately.

Seeing those hands holding each other when I have to imagine yours in mine pisses me off.

You were always a pro at getting me to be brave

But maybe a first kiss without a big moment will speak for itself. Maybe it says, “Hey, I like you when you’re not doing anything special.”

I have all this history with you, Theo, but he has pieces of your puzzle that would destroy me if I ever had to put them together, and yet I still want them.

you should’ve been given more time in this universe. That way, when you were ready to die, you could pack stadiums with people who loved you, not a single room.

There’s got to be some scientific study somewhere that proves your boyfriend’s sweater will keep you warmer and cure you of any illnesses a lot faster than some Pottery Barn blanket.

It’s weird how I can feel his love for me even though that’s not a word we’re throwing around, and I hope he can feel my love for him, too.

Once I close the door, I miss him.

He said he loves me. I believe that, too. But I want more. I want to know it.

where we sat and cried after breaking up, wiping our tears with sleeves and each other’s hands;

I would sometimes find my lovesick self standing in front of the intercom, wishing I could press 2B and summon you down here into my arms.

like on this past New Year’s Eve, where I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe because I was wishing you would call at midnight and tell me you missed me and loved me and would come back to me and be mine again someday soon.

“I only ever wanted the best for him,” I say. I’m not sure I believe I was the best fit for you, Theo, but I do think I was better than Jackson.

I know you loved Theo like that, too.” Love. I love you; this isn’t a past-tense love.

I avoid his eyes. “Sorry.” “I get it. You and Theo grew up together and were each other’s firsts for pretty much everything. But you do get that I loved him, too, right? And he loved me, even though I sometimes had trouble believing it because of you. I don’t know why it matters so much to me, but I wish you wouldn’t write off what he and I had, especially since every couple has to start somewhere. You just beat me to the punch.” I think I’m supposed to say something here. But I can’t.

You kept me alive when we were apart.

We went to high school together back home, but it’s one of those friendships where distance ruins everything.” Jackson shrugs. “I miss them, but I can see online they’re doing just fine without me.”

The wound never closes and the pain remains, always piercing, always burning, always suffocating, always bleeding.

I was wrong before. I don’t want to be clued in to your life without me.

One of the lessons I’ve learned over and over since our breakup and your death is how the pain becomes physical.

I walk into my room, close my door, and throw myself on my bed, too drained even to cry. I hope you don’t think this means I’m grieving you any less. Blame it on my body.

I get back in bed and crawl under my covers, expecting to fall asleep instantly. Of course I don’t.