seven minutes || a. griezmann

sept minutes

sept minutes

I'm back in that empty ballroom, the only light coming from a dim, old chandelier hanging above my head. My head is cradled in my hands and I'm rocking myself back and forth gently. The Oscar de la Renta dress falls around me in a flurry of gorgeous floral-printed fabric and I gently trace the pale pink flowers with my finers. Tears roll off my cheeks and fall to the dress, seeping into the skirt.

I'm crying to fill the empty ballroom around me. I'm crying to try and fill the hole that rests in my heart. But most of all, I'm crying because I can't fill those spaces. I sob even harder, streams of tears rolling down my cheeks. Emotion courses through my bloodstream, infecting me. There is nothing to save. There is nothing anyone can save.

I wipe my eyes and inhale deeply.

The knife. With cold, trembling hands I grab the knife and press the cold of the handle in my palm, wrapping my fingers around it. I look at it for a second, my eyes tracing the intricacy of the craftmanship and asessing the sharpness of the blade.

Will this be enough?

I move my wrist in a quick motion, driving the blade into me. A short shock of pain rests in my gut and runs up my spine and down my legs like electricity. I pull the blade away and watch as the blood pours out onto the fabric and runs down onto the floor. The knife falls from my grip and clatters to the floor in a symphony of metal on wood.

And the first thing I think about is you.

Everything feels fuzzy: the ability to hear as the doors swing open and shut again, the sight at the corners of my eyes starts to become darker and my eyelids feel heavier, the almost metallic smell of blood, being able to tell who is wrapping their arms around me and even the familiar taste of my tongue. Everything. Everything except my thoughts.

I love you. I think as I look up into your beautiful crystal blue eyes. I love you, Antoine Griezmann. I'm sorry I had to do this. I'm so sorry to leave this world without telling you why. I'm sorry I ever dragged you into this mess called my life. I'm so sorry I expected everything to change after I met you. I do love you. This feeling is like nothing I've ever felt before and I'm so grateful it was for you. I thought that somehow you could take this depression away from me but it's so much deeper than you or me. I'm sorry I didn't show my love enough. I don't know how to love you or anything in this world and I'm very sorry for that. I'm sorry you had to live with that. I'm so, so sorry. I try to say the words but they only come out as small mumbles. Watching the tears run down your face makes me cry even harder. You kiss me.

Your name leaves my mouth and you gently wipe away one of my tears, looking deep into my eyes.

"La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée. / Ce soir, ma robe en est toute embaumée. / Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir." I manage to push out the words and I think about their meaning. The waves were crimson red as if on fire. / This eve my dress is drenched in their fragrance / Breathe it and keep it to your heart's desire.

Blood is depression's fragrance. 

You hold me close to your chest, your hands tangled in my hair perfectly. Everything feels fine. Something tugs at me as I inhale my last deep breath and let a gentle smile fall across my face for a pure second as I think of us before all my strength falls. My smile falls away as fast as it came and all energy drains from me.

And I'm relieved from this cruel world with one thought.

One single, beautiful thought.

You.

And the last minute slips away, the feeling of your fingers lingering on my cheeks and the image of your beautiful eyes burned in my mind forever. The darkness embraces me, the blackness of death pulling me like a puppet on a string. And my brain can think about is you. One final, crisp thought goes through my mind: 

I love you, Antoine Griezmann.