Dance Me to the End of Love [BloodRaven]

An unearthly lightness engulfs Nerissa like wildfire, in tandem with the resonant, rhythmic drumming of downpour dousing the roof. Drawn from the purest form of tranquility, it eases her overly troubled mind as her gaze drifts toward the front yard, where a pair of robins flock to the birdfeeder – swaying from the apple tree – regularly filled to the brim with Morning Song sunflower hearts, faintly dappled in the porch light’s gleam.

An onslaught of thoughts instantly come to mind, for every object and many things alike can hold countless connotations. In just those twelve seconds – from when the birds first appeared at the edge of her vision to when they found both a feast and a well-deserved resting place out of Nerissa and Elizabeth’s physical labor – she experienced a fleeting sense of peace. To put it differently, just those twelve seconds are enough for her to think about a decade of history.

After the bellies of the little skyward, hymnal beings are full, their hunger satiated by nature’s bountiful offering, they rest under the delightful shade of the tree and serve as a backdrop to Nerissa’s reverie: absorbed by past experiences, an emotional kaleidoscope dances in her irises, their faint hue often emitting a warmth that could nearly be mistaken for red.

The sky, once streaked with gold, deepens into a royal blue, the last remnants of daylight melting into the horizon as dusk falls over the world, hushed and draped in beauty while stars glimmer into existence. Critters begin to seek refuge as Nerissa is transported back in time, recalling how, every harvest, she and Elizabeth would wake up an hour earlier than usual to share warm cider under the canopy of their backyard’s small-scale orchard before plucking cherries, peaches, and pears, the song of wind chimes threading through the morning stillness.

Elizabeth, in her whimsical spirit, decided to build the bird-feeder one midafternoon when they were being particularly noisy, deeming the quietude of their house-front trees a brief, but rewarding home. Nerissa remembers waking from a nap that day on her lonesome; the absence of Elizabeth’s presence didn’t exactly alarm her, but it was, in the least, a little bit out of the ordinary.

After repeatedly calling out her lover’s name as she wandered through the house, wearing only an oversized nightgown with her hair resting in tendrils along her exposed neck, she eventually found a note purposefully left out on the countertop, and recognized Elizabeth’s deliberate calligraphy immediately. It read: ‘I’m outside if you want to join me.’

In this heat? Nerissa thought, shaking her head and scoffing at Elizabeth’s foolish tendencies. When she opened the sliding door and saw the former kneeling on the back porch, she let out a sigh. Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed from the heat, but she remained focused, looping twine through a repurposed tin can. A bag of birdseed sat beside her, along with a pair of scissors and a roll of duct tape.

Nerissa spoke aloud of her worries once directly beside her, palm positioned flat against her forehead. You aren’t just simply hot, you’re more accurately burning up like a million suns!

Elizabeth had pouted, plump lips jutting out, and Nerissa took a deep breath when her eyes met her strong, tanned arms, the muscle in her inked forearms flexing as she continued to work on the twine. Sweat clung to her skin, accentuating her sharp jaw as well as the loose tank top falling from her broad shoulders, and Nerissa fumbled, taking it as a sign that she lost this silent battle. “You’re such a prick,” she drawled out in a whine.

Her words had effortlessly coaxed uncontrollable laughter from Elizabeth’s mouth, her head tilting back as the sound spilled freely into the springtime air. “Well, oh my!” She expressed in a teasing tone. “I love you too, my dear raven. Don’t you know it, mm?” A mix of her cadence and the zephyr breeze that carried the scent of petrichor and fallen roses caused a shiver to run down Nerissa’s spine.

Nerissa, in present time, watches Elizabeth reaching forward to close the open window in the kitchen, dish soap and rain just a mere whisper to her senses. Elizabeth’s elbow brushes against the miniature artificial flowers on the wooden ledge; they tip slightly, and she takes a moment to adjust them, fingers smoothing the petals into place. She dons a grey robe while strands of hair cling to her back. She leans against the counter, rolling her shoulders absently, attempting to ease the strain in them before turning to the sink. Her movements are automatic, mind elsewhere. The occasional dull ache in her knee flares when she shifts her weight, and sometimes it’s painful enough for her to wince, but she ignores it, used to the sensation by now. Frustrated nonetheless, she sucks her misaligned teeth and endures.

Nerissa, cuddled into the pillows on the couch, refocuses on the photo album across her lap. A single photograph rests between her fingers, its edges curled, the image faded with time. Elizabeth notices this, and quickly dries her hands before reaching for her cane, carefully making her way over. Nerissa barely glances up, her eyes still fixed on the photo as she speaks. “Our first date,” she murmurs, nostalgia washing over her.

Elizabeth lowers herself onto the couch, setting her cane against the armrest. She leans in towards Nerissa, the signature cherry blossom perfume clear as day to her, and traces the photograph’s surface with a sole fingertip. “You look the same to me,” she muses, thinking of the anxiety and the excitement-induced churning of her stomach. For the entirety of that day, the sole thing that occupied her mind revolved around blue, blue, blue. Even the feeling of cold metal against her skin was a trigger, as it reminded her of the necklace Nerissa always wore, and the picture of Nerissa’s late mother kept securely inside said necklace.

Nerissa huffs out a laugh that tumbles into a giggle, and to Elizabeth, the sound of her unconcealable mirth can not be more of a rival to pure music or own happiness, childlike and of the same sweetness of dessert. It cannot be more of the reason for the butterflies swarming in Elizabeth’s garden of a heart, watered by every word she utters, every breath she takes. It too rivals the calmest melody Elizabeth had ever heard, a serenade woven from sunsets and cloudy skylights and blueberry blossoms, unguarded and ever so free; and she cannot believe she’s still the cause of it. As she stares in awe, she cannot begin to understand how she is worthy of such a pleasant response to a measly joke, of which had been sputtered through lips stained scarlet from the punch she’d been sipping on.

And yet. She is worthy. She’s always been worthy.

Although, Nerissa finds Elizabeth’s brief musing humorous, because every single detail about her has changed since then. The way she smiles, the way she carries herself, the way she talks, even the way she simply moves – everything feels new, as if time has thoroughly sculpted her into someone else, someone that would have been unfamiliar to her in most of the preceding years. The past, a distant echo, has been overshadowed by each passing second that came after it.

If time stood still, Nerissa would take these moments, seize them as though they’re treasured pearls found in the rarest sea now cradled in the palms of her ashen hands, and make them last forever. She’d do more than just capture them through the lens of the three-year-old Polaroid camera she’d left back at her childhood home, or frame and position it alongside the ephemeral collage of her and her family’s lives, forever etched within the contours of her heart – which, to be honest, might’ve been enough for her in the past, but as the clock of fate ticked by and time unraveled onward, she felt a yearning for something more grow from a glimmer to an unrelenting radiance.

Elizabeth hands over the photo, saying something about needing to go to the bathroom for two unspecified reasons. Passing a hand over Nerissa's knee, she picks up her cane and walks down the hall, disappearing behind a corner covered in books stacked high. Oh dear, Nerissa thinks, wishing the photograph clasped again in her now trembling hands to be a moment made eternal. She knows no one would ever hold time in their grasp, but she imagines the possibility. She tells herself that she can close her eyes, if she must, but she cannot let go of the moments where time seems to pause altogether, just for her. She does just that, makes sure she does not forget to open them, and glances at slate blue sky – softening as the night falls – and the billions of stars that guide her inevitable way home. Eventually, everything will catch up to her. Everything she's run from, and everything she's run in the direction of.

Imagining herself perpetually floating in that same sky on the other side of the window, so very close to that starry veil, the photograph, of which is subject to the sun’s rays, beams brighter in the reflection of her eyes while acting as a shooting star she can wish upon. For as long as she can, she’ll make time stand still for Elizabeth, ensuring they will find a forever friend in content’s embrace.

Forced to reminiscence alone – in silence nonetheless – she recalls mapping out a plan for the future that, to be wholly honest, looked like this; tomorrow, the sun rises behind the field blanketed in scattered freckles of snow. Elizabeth describes the world to her through her perspective. The sky blushes, a dimple poking out. Do you see the vision? Not yet? Okay, love. That’s okay, just listen. There are so many things to stay alive for, she said, fiddling with Nerissa’s mental health bracelet, then pressed a tender kiss to its band. Do you think love will be the same without there being bodies in the afterlife? Do you think anything will come close to earthly goodness?

The horizon expands like a promise unspoken, and everything will be okay. Nerissa sprawled out like a cat, stretching her limbs as though she embraced the whole universe, and she was okay.

O, silent night, you weren’t so silent anymore. When she strained her ears and listened to life’s music, the park by her grandmother’s house – the place she’s called Ma’s Creek since she was five years old and seeing orphic magic in everything she witnessed – speaks to her, and an old friend three years younger than her throws a pebble into the water, tear-stained cheeks sparkling like a dream.

She mapped out a plan for any future at all and, in turn, realized she had no path to take. The one before her was as faint as ever, and her world was tangled in blue. Despite this, she chased forever, just as any human does, even when they know it’s not reachable. The clouds aren’t either, though. Not without effort.

But the birth of light is beautiful. The dawn, the sun. And she found Elizabeth, found a lover. And she’s sorry. Sorry for orbiting around her so much in the past, holding onto her like a lifeline. Her chorus of apologies were always imbued with vulnerability and sincerity, and Elizabeth not only loved her, but saw her beyond her cracked surface. Thus, she loved her for who she truly was. And truly is.

That’s love, is it not?

Nerissa just hopes it’s worth it. She hopes that living is worth it, that the end of her journey is, above all, the beginning of something new, and that she’s able to have a sort of universal crush on life. She hopes to see another day, too. She hopes, she devotes, she dies, she lives. And she–

Blink, time snickers in a daring manner. Blink, and you’ll miss it. You’ll miss your own life.

The world belonged to the two of them; they didn’t always need words, because only the quiet understanding that the both of them wanted the night to be endless was worth the weight of the stars. Freshly eighteen, Nerissa took her new car for a spin, picking up Elizabeth on the way to nowhere, and they set off on the road right after dusk. With virtually nothing but the hum of the radio, a half-empty gas station coffee cup, a just-filled gas tank, and themselves, all restless and reckless, they tried to make the best of their time. Sleeves pulled over cold hands, Nerissa drove until Elizabeth insisted enough was enough. We’ve been driving past all this gorgeous scenery without really taking it in! Elizabeth complained lightheartedly, though truthfully. Come on, let’s stop and experience it.

Blink.

The world belonged to time. The world belonged to moments, and moments were fleeting. Elizabeth and Nerissa were fleeting, and the only thing that kept them grounded was knowing they existed. The warmth of the sun against their backs, the feeling of soft sheets as they woke up, the rush of air as they jumped into a lake too large for them to ever conquer, nevertheless fathom the existence of. Of course, they existed. Just smaller. Just in different ways, they had to remind themselves – in a way no wandering cloud, city skylight, or lonesome star would ever know. They existed alongside one another, in each other’s company more than in the company of their own families, and their matching mental health bracelets frequently brought this fact to mind. Words etched into the metal, into the heart and soul. Progress, not perfection. If Nerissa had the freedom to get another one, she’d want it to be custom-made with the engraving of her favorite short quote: One day at a time.

Blink again.

The world was covered in fog the day it tilted for Nerissa, permanently off-kilter. Three little words. Multiple three little words swirled in her mind constantly. In the beginning of their friendship, these words most likely would’ve been something along the lines of: I hate myself. I tried everything. Please don’t go. I’m too late. It’s over now. Back then, Nerissa consistently found herself dependent on Elizabeth, and vice versa. Now, though, even after waking from a nightmare, body quivering, body drenched in sweat, her first thought is, I am okay. Morning is here. “Breathe,” Elizabeth whispers, placing her lips upon closed eyelids with the same gentleness as the stars when they act as though they are intermittent dapples of sunlight, blinking in and out like bad reception. “Breathe, you’re okay. I’m with you, and morning is here. Good dreams don’t have to be dreams forever, but right now, you have to keep your head in reality.” And then, three words: “I love you.”

Blink again, and again.

The world does not, for a single second, stop throughout the grieving process, so why would it stop when one’s heart breaks? Or when that same heart is then mended? Why would it stop for Nerissa, if not for anybody else? Alas, her determination stopped in place of the world. Thankfully, as usual, Elizabeth was there to comfort her during it all, when grief came back and took the shape of a forgotten photograph, left in the bottom drawer of a nightstand. Subsequently, sadness reintroduced itself in the form of a dream that felt too real. But once she returned to the concrete, yet unforgiving world, she poured her soul onto the page laid out before her. If only I could see the world through the lens of someone who was being born anew everyday, and so everything seemed ethereal and unreal, like things that verge on magic or embody the pinnacle of creation’s beauty, she revealed, and her words became truths only the ink and the paper would ever know in depth. If I cannot even appreciate the true beauty of something like, say, a flower or the sky at night, how could I ever appreciate the beauty of myself?

Blink again, and again, and again.

The world mirrored Nerissa’s happiness, colors blooming brighter than she believed she’d ever seen before. She paid attention to the murmur of the river ten minutes away from home, the mist over the hills leading to the park that blurred the line between earth and sky, the flowers and the stirring of them due to the breeze, and the sunlight that embraced her body, exactly like how she embraced Elizabeth. The art of meraki: she crystallized her passion into beauty, her emotion into a personified muse, and her silence into song; she remembered the words “one day at a time” and abided by them. Daily, Elizabeth checked in on her through text message, and at least weekly, they set aside time together, finally prioritizing themselves and mental health above all. Every ‘I love you’ was no longer exclusively words used to construct a sentence, they were an immutable state of being. Still, it’s absolutely worth mentioning that every reminder of the existing love were jewels limitless in value, glimmering in the hidden alcoves of remembrance.

Blink again, and again, and again, and–

The world reflected both light and dark through Nerissa’s framed eyeglasses, able to be interpreted as something to be grateful for. The world stood still while she wondered if, one day, in writing, she could carve the concepts of beauty and love into herself, carefully sharpen the unclear outlines and straighten out the indistinct edge, and even reframe the focus entirely, if need be. The world bestowed the moon as her companion, eyeing her as she and Elizabeth signed the adoption papers. The world unceasingly spinned. The world collapsed around her. The world faded away. The world continued on, and so did she.

Nerissa, blinking one last time, quickly sweeps each memory aside, silently flipping through the photo album, the cover page inked with the caption Girlhood & Grief: 1989! Elizabeth had made it as a gift for Nerissa’s eighteenth birthday, three years after 1989, the entirety of it filled with snapshots of their earliest year together – messy handwriting in the margins, polaroids of them together. One captures them being lazy in bed, huddled together with Elizabeth’s childhood dog, Bobby, as he rested amidst a pile of pillows.

A dried rose is pressed against a page, its petals brittle but still intact. Nerissa remembers it after a few moments of recollection. It was plucked from along the roadside by Elizabeth’s house, where sunlight shone through the towering trees and created a haze of illumination. Nerissa had given it to Elizabeth at her doorstep, a poor offering for a grief neither of them knew how to correctly express. Although, in the least, Nerissa hoped it mattered, and hoped Elizabeth realized it was meant to be a tribute to the fact she knew Elizabeth’s younger brother’s favorite flower, and did so by heart.

Further in, there is a folded post-it note, creased from years of being tucked and untucked from its resting place. Nerissa opens it slowly and gently until Elizabeth’s script is revealed: Meet me in the library during lunch. And please bring your backpack, or just the Haribo gummies I know you keep inside. You owe me after last time.

Nerissa laughs softly, remembering how the library became their safe space. Habitually, they’d meet up there after going through the lunch line for their respective meals, usually equally splitting a snack of some sort, their fingers crossed that they’d find an empty corner where nobody would bother them. The librarian knew them well enough to leave them be – two girls, one infinitely more muted than the other, who loved to be in the other’s presence, incomparable to anything else. Nerissa would always be the one to read aloud, sometimes voice acting when Elizabeth’s tired eyes began to close or drift, making dramatic gestures and giving the characters exaggerated tones, raising a laugh out of Elizabeth despite her gloomy mood.

The next page holds the memory of them standing knee-deep in Nerissa’s favorite river of all-time, in the form of a terribly-framed selfie. Nerissa’s arms were draped around Elizabeth’s shoulder, and water visibly flowed in the background. A handwritten caption reads, The day we skipped church (sorry, God). Another page holds the memory of a night with loud music and even louder hearts, a crumpled concert ticket taped onto it: Eden & Leona, June 10, 1989. They were a local two-person band – both of which they looked up to in terms of passion – who had come back to their hometown to run a show after a week or so of touring. Nerissa and Elizabeth were more than lucky to attend, for in hindsight, it became an afternoon that felt like the spark that fueled a desire to make a name for themselves in any way possible.

Then, two newspaper clippings, beside each other like scars, cluttered stars drawn underneath both titles: ‘Local Teacher, Father to One, Killed in Car Accident’ and ‘Tragic House Fire Claims Young Boy’s Life.’

With emotions lodged deep in her throat, Nerissa swallows and traces the words, faded but clearer than she’d like them to be with the memory itself. Suddenly, all she can hear is Elizabeth’s confession from all those years ago, raw and human: “I think if I stop talking about him, he’ll disappear from my mind, and his appearance will be muddled.” Nerissa squeezed her hand, whilst wiping each tear that dripped from her eyes, and said, I think mine already has. Right after she murmured those words, she paused and absentmindedly ran her shaking fingers through dark tresses: a mutual habit, a promise of forever. But we’ll be alright, yeah? Good things take time. Healing takes time, as well as patience.

The downpour outside settles to a drizzle, barely noticeable as it continues to drum against the windows. Nerissa turns yet another page, heart stuttering, tears at the creases of her eyelids, and notices the sound of silence. Elizabeth’s been gone longer than expected. She lifts her head, listening to her surroundings and not any more of the auditory hallucinations. And then – Dorran’s voice, not completely clear but still managing to be bright and innocent.

Letting out a little sigh of relief, Nerissa clears her throat and pulls her sleeve further down her arm until it reaches her hand, using the fabric that covers the skin to easily wipe away her silvery tears. She closes the album – at last! – before standing and walking over to the hallway, where even more photos and memories attempt to suffocate her, closing in like she’s being preyed upon. By thy Heavens, she grinds her teeth together out of habit, halting directly in front of Dorran’s room, the door closed. Thank God. Oh, by the stars and the sky, and most of all, by happenstance. Thank you, thank you.

Once Nerissa opens the door, she sees Elizabeth nodding her head while walking toward the entryway. Dorran, back to Nerissa, sits in bed, her small hands trying to reach for her stuffed animal, Bluey.

“Oh, I was just about to go and get you,” Elizabeth smiles, dimples showing as she presses a kiss to Nerissa’s wrinkled cheek. “She wishes for you this time, darling. I can’t blame her, really. I said ‘very well then’ and agreed silently with her about just how pleasant your reading voice is.”

Nerissa’s love for reading to others did not simply cease in 1989. In fact, it’s been going strong for the past thirty-four years. Through each and every trial and tribulation, this is one thing that has not changed in the slightest. Nerissa – in present day, the year 2023, their shared age 49 – mainly reads stories to Elizabeth while on the porch usually during midmornings or afternoons, when the birds are chirping and singing an awfully familiar tune. Sometimes, on the rare occasions where she and Elizabeth seeked refuge at night, the fireflies joined in on the fun, flapping their wings fast enough for them to appear as glowing embers, devoid of a single jagged line.

Time is a portal, of which Nerissa continuously steps through, never losing sight of what matters: home, passion, and Elizabeth.