You told me I couldn’t say goodbye, so I decided to write it instead. I loved many men before you, but I’ll never love another after. You’re shimmering nights in Towertown and “I love you” by the sea. My best batch of moonshine and the Cubs winning the series in three (fuck you for rolling your eyes right now. I know they need four to win, but I liked the way it sounded). You're my everything.

I can’t pretend to understand what it is that’s keeping you there, but you’re allowed to be happy. You weren’t made to suffer. You were made to be perfect... for me.

I’ll wait for you and if you never come, I hope it’s because you didn’t want to and not because you were afraid. There are so many things in this world to fear, but freedom isn’t one of them. Come be free with me.

I love you. 

Yours,

Cal

I held the paper until my fat teardrops compromised the fibers and soaked it full of holes. Tommy guns and termites could not hollow a core as brutally as a lost love.

We two have run about the slopes and picked the daisies fine; but we’ve wandered many a weary foot since auld lang syne. We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; but seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne.

29

February 1937

I didn’t know emptiness could be overwhelming until Cal left. With him gone, silence ceased to be a lack of sound, defined instead by the absence of his voice. I waded through white noise, appliances buzzing as my mind whispered endlessly about the enormity of my regret. If our landlord hadn’t required advanced payments, I would have found a new place to rent. I was too tormented by the memories of him to find any solace in the Cal-saturated space. Though I was alone, I moved like he was beside me, shifting in the bed to make room for his form, and fanning my fingers as if he would reach from California to intertwine his with mine. He was the warmth in every blanket and the softness in the sheets, the sweetness in a Snickers bar and laughter on the streets.