It was the year of love and the year of fear and I woke up to a thunderstorm.

 

His voice thunder, the lighting our hands (still intertwined) and the rain my heartbeat. He rolls over, eyes the color of the ocean. I have this theory that his eyes are so blue because there is so much water in his personality that it somehow found its way into his appearance. And there’s this look in his eyes and and I know that look. It is one of longing and softness and please don’t say it. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t –

 

“I love you.”

 

No. No, this is not the way this was supposed to go. See, Water came after Fire. It is so dangerous to have Fire for one’s first love because it will destroy you. It will burn you inside out, flames licking every inch of your body now covered in ash. My fingertips are still singed and so are my heartstrings. But that’s the thing about Fire – some part of you still aches for the burning because it felt so good, and all you could focus on were the beautiful shades of gold mixed into the crimson and orange. I didn’t even notice the scars until after he left.

 

Water is silent and I’ve been quiet for too long. I need to do something – distract him. A kiss, my hand through his hair. This always works. He stops me. He caresses, traces, touches ever so softly, what is he doing? Is this what making love feels like? Whatever it is, I do not want it. I can give you my body but do not ask for my heart, it is not mine to give anymore. His blue veins are poetry but the words are not meant for me.

 

I do not have an unconditional amount of love to give out. I only had a handful of flower petals and dandelions and shooting stars. I had a handful of love and I gave it all away before I could understand what it was. I have nothing left to give. He stops.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks. I am hollow. Heartbreak is a debt that can only be paid with time and I’m afraid my clock has only just started. I try and think of an explanation but no words come out. “Let me draw you a bath, it’ll make you feel better,” he coaxes. I sit still on the bed and listen to the sound of the water running. I feel sick. I know I won’t be able to wash away the embers or the ruin. Run. My body says run. And my body always seems to know things before my mind does so I get up and start packing. Underwear, t-shirt, pants, shoes, do not look back, his eyes will make you want to stay.

 

Fire has turned me into the Vanishing Girl and I’ve forgotten how to stay.

 

Unlock the door, close the door, don’t stop moving. It’s still raining and I can’t see but somehow I end up back home, or rather, back to my apartment. I’m not really sure what home is anymore. I sit on the carpet and light a candle, then another, and then another until there is a circle of light surrounding me. I want to feel again, the spark in my eyes seems to have gone out and I don’t know how to get it back.

 

One afternoon, weeks after I left, I catch my reflection in the mirror of a clothing store. I barely look alive. My lips are stained this strange shade of blue because I’m so cold. Blue. Blue like Water, like his eyes, like his veins, and I see the Water has made its way into my lips and maybe into my heart. Maybe I can love him, maybe I can be enough. The thoughts come all at once and there are so many possibilities; Is it possible for the Vanishing Girl to reappear?

 

I don’t think, my footsteps know the way back to you and I’m smiling for the first time in a long time. I could get used to being happy. The door is unlocked so I walk in, the smile hasn’t left my face and, oh.

 

Have you ever seen a river after the Water’s all gone?

 

So I stand in an empty house with an empty bath and an empty bed as the thunder roars, and the rain starts to fall out of my grey eyes.