I flip through and see they’re all like that. As I’m turning thepages, a folded note flutters to the floor. I bend down to get it just as the elevator doors open. I walk out into the hall, clutching the papers to my chest, my heart racing.
They’re from Jacob. I don’t know what they mean, but he left these for me.
I walk faster, almost jogging to my room, and as soon as I’m inside I drop the papers on the desk, sifting through them until I find the note, unfolding it to reveal Jacob’s handwriting.
I sink into the chair.
Neelu,
I want to first say that my giving you these is not any sort of effort to change your mind. I’m giving them to you because they belong to you. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep them. I wrote these poems over the last few weeks. The morning after we met. The day of the wedding. And every day since. It’s a practice of mine, writing a poem a day. Most never amount to anything—and these are unedited and not particularly good—but it’s a habit. When I looked through them, trying to see if any of them might work for my upcoming collection, I knew each one was about you.
These are the poems I wanted to share with you. You’re not obligated to keep them. You’re welcome to throw them away, but I thought you should have them, that you should know what this time has meant to me. I’ll never regret any of it, or the time I spent knowing you.
Jacob
My lungs tighten, the air trapped inside until I release it in one long breath.
I can’t believe…he wrote about me?
My hand shakes as I flip through the pages.
Like the heather on the hill
Temporary, fleeting
But when the season passes
I’ll remember her still
I turn and keep turning, snippets from different poems catching my attention.
The bird that cries at night listens as we talk
Stories of mourning that echo
It too has known loss
I reach for the mist that haunts the mountains
Only for it to taunt me in return
I do not want to want to chase it
But still I ascend, climbing higher
Laughter ringing in my ears
A flame at night, unyielding, unafraid
Light and warmth in equal measure
Drawn to both its beauty and its pain
They all have titles. “Heather.” “The Bird.” “Mist.” “The Flame.” And they’re all…me. He’s writing about me. These things that scare him, that enchant him, that frustrate him. Things that he’ll miss when they’re gone.
My head reels.
He told me he was falling in love with me, but seeing it spelledout like this…Everything he’s said, it’s how I feel too. Drawn to him from the very beginning. Enchanted by him, frustrated with him, scared by my feelings for him.
