Just One Coffee and a Breakdown, Please

When you were first diagnosed, I remember feeling numb and strange. I thought how they must have made a mistake; and even when we knew the facts, we still didn't really. We thought we had more time because it would be different for us, somehow. But it wasn't, of course, it wasn't. Now, five years later, I'm sat in a coffee shop, sobbing and sneezing into napkins. I came under the pretext of studying and reading for my exam, but as soon as I propped my laptop open, I scrolled through YouTube. A spiral ensuing soon, no doubt. I logged into my University account by mistake and noticed a video. It was something I made for a random project way back when. It was sat in my library, watching me procrastinate, so I pressed play. I heard your laugh first, and it felt like a knife. The melody punching me in my gut, strangling my lungs, pulling at my bones, one by one. I held myself tight, wrapping my arms around my stomach, as if I stood a chance quelling the tears and scream rising from my lungs. But it pours out of me still, it never stopped since that day, and I spilt my coffee on the ground. I let out a sob, another sneeze, into tissues and my receipt. My cold still fresh from this winter's breeze. You would have been mad at me. I left the house with wet hair, and walked around with no slippers or socks. Your voice in my ears. No salgas con el pelo mojado! Tutting your teeth, but smiling at me. Missing you feels like a badly formed scab, ripping open again and again, getting caught on mundane things like coats and jeans. The red cascading on the ground. Sore and pulsing. You would know what to do. What to say. I know you would, but I guess if you were here, it would go away. The hurt I mean. I have an exam soon. Tomorrow at 14:00, and you would say I should eat fish, I know, Omega 3, and a banana as a snack. Potasio. You would tell me to cut them in slices, with apples and clementines. You would hand it to me and I would pretend I couldn't still taste the garlic and onion on fruits from the knife you used. You would have loved the cups and plates here. The vibrant greens and blues. The smell of coffee in the mornings. Your laugh in my ears. I hadn't heard your voice in so long. I almost forgot the sound, and that alone killed me.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

I use the rest of the tissues to clean the coffee, and pick it up from the ground. The cup, a soft blue and green, unbroken. Thank God. I have an exam tomorrow. I should go buy fish.