Water rushes down from the fall, cool and clear.
I drink my fill, hoping to forget.
Hoping to forget you.
I don’t want to, but I have to.
If I want to make it.
If I want to survive.
I sit down under the water, letting it rush over my skin.
The water pools down and flows across the stream.
My memories of you are already fading,
Your smile. Your laugh. Your eyes.
They simply fade.
I calm down as my mind get clearer and clearer.
I have to do this.
The water pounds against my skull, but the sound is soothing.
It fades more quickly.
From when I first met you, when you spoke to me for the first time.
When I left for a long time, and when I found you there, waiting for me.
“I have to do this.” I told myself.
But the tears running down my face told my brain otherwise.
They blended with the water and surrounded me.
Then, you were gone.
Just like that.
You were gone.