Page 192

How could I’ve forgotten?

Eventually, the pain subsides, but the chasm in my heart splits wide open and tears continue pouring down my face.

Those four missing years—the ones I’ve long associated with pain—held memories my mind tried to protect me from. Moments too painful to relive. But hidden among these memories were priceless, beautiful moments I’d give anything to keep forever.

I spend the next minutes reading our journal. Pages and pages of love letters, pressed flowers, inside jokes.

I laugh and cry as the words trigger more precious flashbacks.

My mind makes the connections now. The photos in his apartment and home—all from places on our bucket list. The little trinkets I found stashed away in the hospital nightstand when I woke up—the gold coin, the sea glass, the ghost pepper curry spices, every item a souvenir from the bucket list challenges.

His way of doing the list for me, of keeping hope alive, of keeping our love alive.

His vow to teach me how to swim, because he was supposed to in the past.

Oh Ethan, did you take on that guilt too? Did you think if you’d taught me back then, perhaps I wouldn’t have nearly drowned?

I know he did. My Ethan carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He must’ve been gutted and riddled with guilt.

His poetry.

Did he regret it? Loving me? Waiting for me for almost a decade only to lose me when I don’t remember him?

Then I remember the poem he wrote for me in the courtyard when I asked him for help with my assignment. Love in seven lines.

A scent of lavender lingers.

An imprint time will not erase.

Pain and distance cannot sever.

Her laughter, her light—a path I chase.

Once in a lifetime, a sure-fired arrow.

Even through agony, loneliness, and sorrow.

No regrets, only gratitude—the lavender,always, woven into my soul.

Sobs rack me as the full meaning finally hits me. The depth of his love, the steadfastness, the fact he only holds gratitude despite the years of pain he endured.

“Ethan, oh my God, Ethan.” I stand, needing to find him, to tell him I remember.

I remember everything.

A sheet of paper flutters to the floor and I pick it up. The ink is newer and I see water marks dotting the page.

His tears. His grief.

Tibet

Memories dance behind my eyelids as I go to sleep,

Visions of you, soaring high in my dreams.

Ribbons of fire twirling in the wind,

Your lavender scent lingers, a longing I cannot rescind.