“Sit down.”
He sits.
“We’re gonna try this. It works for a lot of people.”
He nods.
“You just have to write. That’s it, bud. Alright?”
He nods.
A piece of paper is handed to him. It is quickly followed by a pen.
“Don’t do anything weird.”
The door shuts.
“We have plenty of time,” is what you had said. Oh boy.
Here’s the thing, right. Here is the thing. I loved you a lot. It’s just sad that we couldn’t be together, in the end of it all— and, quite frankly, maybe it was better this way… no, no. No. It isn’t better this way, not at all, what am I saying?
I remember your house. I miss your house. Here, it’s all just concrete, lined walls, zipped jackets tight uniforms itchy clothes bland food. You would always cook the most bountiful meals, the things that tasted the best, all steaming and full of love.
You would smile at me. You would grin. You would laugh and the light would be bright but your giggle was brighter. I was always there with you. Did you know that? Did you know that I would always stay with you? No matter what?
No wall or window could stop me. Nothing. No door, either.
“What is this?”
He blinks.
“We told you write a letter.”
He leans back in his chair. It’s rough on his skin.
“This is— you—”
His hands are shaking.
“You were to write to atone, not—”
He stays silent, but he picks up the pen and paper again.
I miss you so much.
Sometimes when it’s empty in here, in my mind and in my heart, I whisper your name. Then, I imagine you whispering mine back to me. Then, then then
You know, I went to her house… once. Just to pay her a visit. I gave her the most beautiful tea and it was perfumed with my own personal brew. She enjoyed it, she really did, and I left flowers in her hands.
Did you like the flowers? They wer
“You’ve made him worse.”
“I know.”
He writes, he writes.
“But he’s confessing, isn’t he?”
“He’s already proven guilty.”
You were so beautiful. I am sure you still are.
Through the window, you were the most beautiful. How your figure was only half illuminated by your starry room, and how the curtains would frame your bodice like some sick & illustrious painting, and then you wouldn’t see me, where I was crouching in the bushes–
“…murdered a woman. Poison. And left flowers by her body.”
“He’s in here for a reason.”
-I can still feel the leaves in my hair, the rough ground under my knees, the grass stains left on most of my pants, and I mean, how could you not love me after all that?
He is shoved into a room. Asylum room 18B.
“We have plenty of time,” is what you had said.
But honestly, we were never going to make it.
“…stalker.”
Melody Zhang 
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