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I still remember the look on your face
Lit through the darkness at 1:58
They’d taken to sleeping in the same bed, after. Taken to cuddling and talking and waking each other from the dreams. They’d go to breakfast tired but bright-eyed and smiling.
The words that you whispered
For just us to know
They’d made a great team for racing, for capture-the-flag, everything. They could warn with a glance and one word held the meaning of a thousand.
You told me you loved me
So why did you go away
Go away
They’d never talked about it. About what they would do if they ended, left, moved on, disappeared.
(most couples don’t.)
I do recall now
The smell of the rain
Fresh on the pavement
I ran off the plane
They’d lost each, before. Gone missing, gotten kidnapped.
Never like this.
(she couldn’t go to the ocean anymore.
didn’t want to.)
That July ninth
The beat of your heart
It jumps through your shirt
I can still feel your arms
Sometimes she’d grab the weighted blanket.
When her arms weren’t enough.
Enough to pretend.
(his heartbeat—she searched for one as soothing. She never found it.)
But now I'll go sit on the floor
Wearing your clothes
All that I know is
I don't know how to be something you missed
His mother offered her some of his clothes.
She sat on his bedroom floor, sobbing, for hours.
(the day they no longer smelled like him, the day she lost that little bit more of him, she cried herself to sleep.)
Never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips
They’d had plans, a life ahead of them. College (he’d taken a gap year, deciding), marriage, dreams. They wanted to spend their lives together. Before.
Before it was all ripped away, just like that.
Before she could breathe.
I do remember
The swing in your step
The life of the party, you're showing off again
And I roll my eyes and then
You pull me in
I'm not much for dancing
But for you I did
He’d surprised her, on her birthday.
They couldn’t go out, but he set up lights, tables, music, dinner.
A wonderful night, all for her.
And when their friends had given their gifts, sang, eaten and laughed and danced with her, when they turned into bed—after that was the best part.
He turned on one last song, something slow and sappy and sweet, the kind of song she’d never admit she liked, not really, and spun her around the tables.
She’d felt like a princess, dressed up and laughing, her prince grinning at her with bright green eyes.
They’d been so happy.
Because I love your handshake
Meetin' my father
I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets
How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something
There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions
He’d gotten more confident over the years. They both had.
He’d walked with his head held high, one hand in hers.
She pretended to be annoyed when she caught him watching her.
(her blush always gave her away.
his rarely did, skin too dark to show the flush that always appeared when he was caught.
it was something she’d miss, now. Catching him in a blush dark enough it showed on his face.)
And I'll go sit on the floor
Wearing your clothes
All that I know is that
I don't know how to be something you miss
Even with his scent faded, gone, she still wore his clothes.
It was a piece of him no one could take.
(she wished there was a way to miss him less, to make this hurt less.
she never did find one.)
Never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips
She thought back on their last day, the way he’d pulled back from their morning kiss, grinning, dark cheeks warm, and winked.
He’d promised to take her out for dinner, soon.
How less than an hour after that kiss, that promise, her world was changed for the worse.
How she woke in the night, calling.
Calling for him.
So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep
And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe
And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are
Hope it's nice where you are
She helped sort through his pictures—baby, child, teen, young man. She decided what to put up at his funeral, what she wanted to keep.
She laughed at the baby pictures, he’d been so cute.
She grinned at the boy he’d been, skateboarding.
She smiled fondly at the man she’d loved.
(and if she cried, only she knew.)
She wondered, once, twice, three times a day if he was waiting for her.
(he was laughing, peaceful at last.)
And I hope the sun shines
And it's a beautiful day
All she wanted, now, in the painful freshness of this grief was to be with him.
And something reminds you
You wish you had stayed
She was told his last words were asking for her.
You can plan for a change in weather and time
But I never planned on you changing your mind
If she had known-if she had known, she would have gone with him.
(if she’d gone with him, they’d both be dead.)
So I'll go sit on the floor
Wearing your clothes
All that I know is that
I don't know how to be something you miss
Never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips
She wore his second favorite dress; dark grey, matching her eyes, with green embroidery at the hem and sleeves.
Was he missing her, in death? Did he love her in death as he had in life?
She gave a eulogy; one of three.
It was both easy and hard. She could talk about him all day, but to speak of him in death-it didn’t feel real.
(it wasn’t the ending they deserved, but it was the ending they had.)
Just like our last kiss
Forever the name on my lips
Forever the name on my lips
Just like our last
She knelt at the grave, pressed a kiss to the now-worn stone.
As always, she put down flowers.
As always, she told him everything.
As always, she sent a prayer asking when it was her turn.
(sixty years later, a surprise baby and a wonderful job and three beautiful grandchildren later, and she was still asking.
she was so tired.
her fight was gone.)
As always, she cried.
Annabeth Chase—daughter of Athena, Hero of Olympus, single mother, architect, grandmother—cried for the too few years she’d had with him.
For the years he hadn’t had with their daughter, their grandchildren.
For the married couple they’d never gotten the chance to be.
But today, something was different.
Someone heard.
“Hey, Wise Girl.” He was smiling, young.
And suddenly she was young, too, discussing wedding plans and date nights with her boyfriend of ten years, her fiance of two and a half.
“How about we take one last adventure?” He offered his hand.
She took it.