Property of Billie Eilish (✓)

015

Page from "Sad", a journal by Riley.

"Do that again" Billie said softly, her cheeks pink and her chest rising and falling rapidly. I bit my lip to hold back a grin before moving away and walking through the apartment to get to my room.

I could hear Billie's soft footsteps behind me as she followed. I considered kissing her again, but before I could fully process what I was going to do, Billie pulled me back towards her for a kiss.

A lot of romance novels describe the feeling of nervousness and relief as 'sparks'. I didn't feel sparks when she kissed me that day. It felt like a flower in my gut beginning to bloom. Dangerous and beautiful all at once. Her lips were warm, like the sun shining on me from above. She lit my entire nervous system on fire- and I loved every second of it.

When she pulled away, she had the most beautiful... gorgeous smile on her face. I remember it clear as day. Her eyes were slightly glassy and her cheeks still flushed pink. She didn't say anything to me for a while. She just put her head on my shoulder and her arms around my waist. A soft hug. I miss holding her like that. If I could do it all over again, I would. I'd do it a million times just to see that smile again.

Billie and I sat on the floor afterwards and just talked. She told me more about her schizophrenia, what her brain tricked her into seeing and hearing. She said, and I quote

"This might be a weird complement, but the...they like you a lot. One of them doesn't, but the rest of them do. And they don't really like anyone, so I just thought you should know"

I remember this so specifically because of what she was doing as she spoke. Her eyes were on the floor, moving back and fourth as if she was seeing something. I knew better than to ask, because outside interference with a hallucination couldn't be good. Anyway, she jumped up and moved on my bed, and then shook her head and repeated the same exact sentence again.

There was, and still is, a shit ton of stuff I don't know about Billie. I guess I was so caught up in my feelings I didn't take enough time to understand her. I just wanted her, but I didn't do it right. I don't have anything left of her. I have nothing here that belongs to her. I don't have the hoodie or the beanie or even that stupid necklace she gave me. Nothing.

I have something, if I'm being honest. But is a burn scar really something to remember her by?

I hate this. I hate writing. I only tried because I missed her and this reminds me of what she would do when she was off her medication. If I had only realized she stopped taking them we'd be in a different situation, but we aren't. She's gone and I'm here alone in my room, sitting in the exact spot we kissed before she left to go home. I miss her so fucking bad. It hurts.

I can't continue.