I wrote this piece after finishing what is now one of my favorite shows of all time. As I’ve grown as a writer, I’ve realized how the nuances of relationships can be explored through prose, and, using inspiration from the main characters, I created this short story.
“I’m the one that you could come to for guidance, bring you home alive when you was wildin’”
Living in the country is hard. It’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. You run out of blankets quickly; and before that, you run out of love. There’s something cute about how they thought they could run away from everything. As if death didn’t haunt you if you lived far away. The grim reaper knows no boundaries. Why did they think moving to the countryside would make anything better? It is only worse. When things die here, everyone is too tired to even bother digging graves.
He found comfort in her like hot chocolate on a winter night, or how men always find comfort in the women they think are easy to make homes out of. Why is it that a girl always has to be a home for you to love her? Why can she not just be a woman? I have never understood. Maybe they go looking for bodies to live in because their own houses are too cold. But now they have run out of blankets. He should’ve just bought a space heater and called it a day.
A concept: They are young again. Her smile is enough now. The city is vibrant with colors so pretty they don’t have names yet. But he pretends they do. She names all the flowers she finds after him. A normal day is boring. Insignificant. Uneventful. It involves him breaking the rules to be with her and her laughing, telling him he shouldn’t, but grateful that he does anyway. These days pass by slowly. She doesn’t mind being a home for him. She relishes the fact that she is there for him. Always. Even when they are apart they aren’t. He picks up sticks and puts them in her hair. She calls him immature but keeps all of them.
Here’s the thing about sticks: They break.
Here’s the thing about flowers: They wilt.
The countryside has droughts. There isn’t enough water for her to grow flowers for him anyway. Not that she would. Even if it did nothing but rain, it is already too late. She would just let them drown. Being someone’s home is exhausting. Sometimes all she wants to do is collapse. Fall asleep and stay that way, let their love rest in peace, as she has never been able to let it do. But then. A flicker of light appears in his eyes. Always on the days that the sun scorches their skin. He will look at her and she will feel the admiration from his gaze. He says thank you for letting me stay in your house with his eyes. She says you’re welcome with her lips. On these days her smile is still not enough, but it is close. So close he can ignore how hard living in the country is. How death is coming for them still, how he’s not sure he wants to run away from it again. These days they are young. She looks at the weeds growing in their farm and thinks, Maybe I can name something else after him.