I’d observed you for only a few weeks, but I’d learned so much about you. You don’t know me. I don’t think you even knew about my presence, much less that I watched and listened to you. I needed some kind of object to inhabit. Only for a little while, then I would be off again. Or at least that was the plan. But then I found you.
I’d never been in love, or even felt love burning in my heart before I met you.
It seems as if my fondness for you has been felt by the millions of stars in the sky. If that surprises you, then I think it may be welcome to know that not only stars have feelings. So do rocks, handbags and briefcases, and ship’s wheels. Lots of other objects know what it is to feel. I somehow have touched every one of them and still sense the tingles in the back of my mind. I’ve been here much longer than them, and the ones before those. I assume you could say I created them. But I’d never inhabited such a thing as an apple before, and I had never met anyone like you.
I like how you stayed around. You didn’t leave your residence, you didn’t meet with other people like you; and I especially like how no one ever came around.
I learned your routine. I’m familiar with the cycle that humans endure until their time ends. The sun rose and eventually you left that room. You sat at the table with the bowl of apples, the one I observe you from, and ate your meal. I don’t understand why you never touched the apples, though. There looks to be a whole tree outside, yet you never ate any of them. I’d seen you dispose of a couple, their skin moulded to the bones. I further feared my apple would be gone soon, but you never did toss it away. I wonder sometimes if in a subliminal way, you knew I was there.
You spent your days reading and writing. It was amazing how many books you had, piled over shelves.
I remember thinking about the words. I know you liked words. I don’t think you understand how attentively I listened to your verses. You spoke to no one if not me. You rehearsed them over in turn. You could imagine my surprise when you lifted another apple up to your face and recited that line. I liked that one.
“To be, or not to be.” I didn’t think that was a question. My answer is, To be, because we are here. Being is a wonderful thing.
The nighttime was terribly lonely for me at first. We never conversed, obviously; though I would watch you. I felt your experiences and I like to think I understood your emotions at that time. I could hardly stand it when you went into that room, only to emerge an eternity later.
Did you realise you had a colour? I’ve read somewhere that to humans, they’re called auras. Yours was a very striking yellow blaze. It surrounded your whole body, but it extended far from your head like a halo. I’ve never before or since seen any living thing with such a colour and brightness as yours. I felt it then. It was warm and welcoming, and for the first time in a very long while, i felt at home. I’m fairly certain your colour connected us, somehow. I could feel it waning in and out, always as bright as a wildfire.
I moved around your dwelling after I grasped at your colour. I was highly practised, but I didn’t want to harm you. I stayed far away from you and only occupied objects I was sure you wouldn’t touch. The dust-covered curtains, for example. I’m certain the only moment you noticed me was when I accidentally flickered the lights: My kind are exceptionally good at that. I never saw what the importance was. I never liked to scare your kind.
While you stayed in your den, I went into that room. I found your own journal; The grey leatherbound one. Your writing changed when it went into that book. Instead of your usual beautifully looped calligraphy, it was scrawled and messy, the ink blotched. It terrified me. You were so beautiful, and this so Loathsome.
That’s when I discovered your reasons for staying around. I learned about your fear of the outside, and your fear of other people.
I realised your isolation may not be completely voluntary, at least when it concerned your mind.
I wished greatly that I could comfort you when you would cry. I watched you cry about books and television shows. I remember you crying about nothing at all, and those were the times I wished to comfort you the most.
Over time, I watched you heal. You opened your heart to the outside when you pushed your curtains apart. Your cheeks weren’t familiar with cheer, so they creased and crinkled into dimples when you smiled. The amount of emotion it spilled was immeasurable.
I smiled the moment you left through your door. You looked cheerful; your eyes bright, everything about you shining with a new saturation. Your elegant pear-green sweater. your fine terracotta hair, your freckled fawn skin, your pearl black skirt. It was gorgeous. I think the gods shone down on you that day.
I explored your residence freely, your absence opening a welcome opportunity for inconspicuous cleaning. I dusted your curtains and window sills, gathered the bunnies from underneath the refrigerator, and removed the stain hidden beneath the carpet. It was a pleasant cleaning. I hoped to coexist with you for a long time.
I could feel your colour glowing warmly, even from afar.
I had since retired myself to a quilt once you had been gone for a few hours. I watched ceiling fan blades circle overhead. I was content. In that moment, I was certain I wanted to stay here, with you, forever.
A burning sensation creeped up my being. It struck me like an arrow to the heart when I recognized it; I felt your colour fading. I was distraught; fate was the only power direr you. I’d never before felt emotions as strong as these.
My mind raced in black scribbles, only creating one coherent thought which was you.
The lamplights swelled until they burst, showering your home with glass.
Dogs barked, insects buzzed their wings together, grass shifted with the breeze, dust settled in the air, taxicabs honked as their owners yelled expletives out the windows. It was all too loud.
Your colour pulsed, and went out like the snip of a thread.
Everything, -even my thoughts- silenced. The world dimmed into grey. My breathing hitched. I waited for the punchline that would never arrive.
It burdens me that I’ll never know what happened- I’m only able to hope you didn’t suffer long.
I looked for you extensively. I searched the theatre houses, the cafes, and the hospitals, but I wasn’t able to find you.
I nearly gave up; I went back home. It felt cold, like an old, empty house that still knew where the furniture is supposed to be. Where the furniture isn’t.
I noticed this typewriter sitting among your things, and now it comes to the point in the story where I’m writing this to you.
This isn’t an apology. Because apologies rarely fix anything, and this can’t be fixed. I couldn’t have done anything if I had tried. I have been, and will be here far longer than any others, though I vow never to forget you. I loved you. We made something impossible.
When I eventually discovered you, washed ashore among those rocks with a third eye in your skull, my heart bled.