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She tilts her head, looking at the lighter between my fingers, then back at me. “Seven years…”

Something in me gives up when I realize how wrong this is. “You’re not real.”

“I know.”

She looks exactly like she should. No blood staining her, no fear in those eyes, no goodbye. She looks real. She looks real but she’s not and it’s breaking me.

“How was life for seven years, Damien?” she asks as if the tenderness in the way she said my name didn’t kill me once more.

“You died,” I laugh softly. Is she crying? Or maybe it’s me. I don’t know, everything is blurry. My eyes fall back to the lighter, because I can’t bear looking at her again without wanting to tear myself apart. “I thought I remembered you perfectly. But I forgot how it felt to look at you.”

A soft hand landed next to my arm, so close I could grab it if I wanted to. “Was it bad?”

“It was long.”

“Tell me more, please,” she asks softly.

I tell her about him first because I know that’s what she would want to hear. “He’s eighteen now,” I say and I can’t help the small smile that comes with it. “He’s taller than I thought he’d be. He takes care of Blue, and does everything correctly. He’s a good kid. And he never stops mentioning you at any small thing he does.” She smiles and shakes her head, so I continue, “He drives now. I taught him.”

“Is he good?”

“He’s terrible,” I reply and that gets a laugh out of her. “But he’s better than he was two years ago.”

She shakes her head then leans a bit closer to the edge. “That’s not reassuring.”

I laugh softly, looking down at her hand, wanting to take it in mine, feel her, touch her, be with her. “I took him to his first football game after you were gone. I kept looking around like I expected you to be there.” Her smile fades and I continue, “I did everything I promised to you.”

Her fingers finally tighten around mine, and I breathe again. “I know…”

I look at her, and suddenly I can’t stop the lonely tear that falls down my cheek. Somewhere along the way, missing her had become part of breathing. “I thought about you all the time.”

“How often?”

“Every day,” I reply softly.

How can I tell her that even the silence inside me sounded like her, that I forgot the reason I was surviving for every time her face came back inside my mind.

A sad smile appears on her face when she says, “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. I remember everything.” I breathe slowly then continue, “The way you used to look at me when you felt guilty of me loving you. The sound you made whenever you laughed too hard. The way you only fell asleep when I was driving.”

She steps closer, until her forehead rests against mine. I can feel her breathing as if it’s real, and it almost killed me. “I loved you,” she whispers. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

I close my eyes, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close, then press my face into her hair. I want to breathe her in, even though some rational part of me knows there’s nothing here to breathe in. Nothing but memory and grief, and seven years of wanting something I could never have again.

“I missed you, it was killing me,” I whisper.

Her arms tighten around me as I pull back to look at her. My hands still rest at her waist as though letting go would make the years of loneliness return all at once. “I tried. I tried to keep living like you told me to. I worked until I couldn’t think. I stayed busy. I took care of him. I did everything right.”

She watches me quietly, a soft pearl sliding down her eyes.

“But everything tasted wrong,” I continued. “Every good thing felt like something I was supposed to tell you about afterwards.” I laugh and brush her jaw with my fingertip. “You took something with you when you left.”

She reaches toward my face, her sad eyes returning and I hate that even dead she’s not at peace. “What, Damien?”

“My soul, apparently.”

She gives me that sorrowful little smile I remember more than anything. “You’re still here.”