I sit here on the edge of my bed, tear stains prominent against the bright colours of my sheets and tissue spread out in every direction like some bastardization of a halo.
I feel the erratic pulse in my thumb as I press it against the cold glass of my phone, directly on the backspace key and I watch in morbid fascination as the words erase from my screen.
I watch as my whole heart translated into ones and zeros vanishes like some sick magic trick. The rapid tick tick tick sound that bleeds through my phone will be the eulogy or the praise song and the backspace key will be the shovel, and the dirt, and the coffin, and the coroner, and the mourner. The only other mourner beside me.
It seems all too easy if only I could erase the memories too. If only I could recite some spell and forget how beautiful you looked when you were painting or the shape your lips formed when you first said I love you. If only all the things we said didn't matter if only all the promises were meaningless incantations and all the laughter fickle ghosts that we couldn’t exorcise.
See we stuffed infinite infinities into every second that we spent together and that in itself was its own type of magic. Too advanced for the simple parlour tricks of ‘backspace’ or ‘ctrl+alt+delete’, too advanced for even us, master magicians.
The world was our stage and no one else knew our tricks but you and I. You were brilliant. Amazing. Charismatic. The best I’ve ever seen, so good that you even had me captivated along with the audience, And now, looking back through all the pain and heartbreak and tears I wonder how I never worried why disappearing tricks were your favourite until you vanished and never came back.
So I allow myself to hope that wherever you've gone, is where all things that have been magicked away vanish to. I hope that as you float through what I can only imagine to be some convoluted version of magical purgatory you find the pieces of me that have vanished over time.
I hope you find my smile, dripping with oil paint and shiny with stolen moments and I hope you know that it was always yours to begin with. I hope you happen across my dignity and pride that leapt out of my mouth and into your palm, only to be abracadabrad away with the flick of your wrist.
I hope you discover some of my laughter, eternally trapped in one of those photographs that you always loved to take, I hope you can syphon some out and send it back to me. But most of all, I hope you find me, because wasn't your greatest magic trick, the greatest bit of illusion and foolery that ever graced mankind, how you managed to make the real me, the me that loved you with everything I could possibly give, the truest, purest version of me, disappear without a trace.