“Cyanide” he tells me out of the blue. “It smells like almonds. They use it in gas chambers.” he continues.
“Is it painful? Is it a slow death?” I asked intrigued.
“not if you’re asleep…. or old. But otherwise, I hear that it’s pretty pain, it’s a struggle, you feel it.” he explains.
***
What you didn’t tell me is that you didn’t need cyanide to feel it. When you left, when you decided to call it quits, every waking moment from that very day you walked out- it felt like I was inhaling cyanide. I felt my insides churn, struggling to live, slowing failing me- it felt like I was dying a slow painful death.
The times that I felt the most pain was when I was awake, doing life in general. The only reason for that is because you were there with me every single time- picking up my laundry, buying groceries and even just posting a letter. Your shadow haunted me- it followed me everywhere, when I ran it ran too. If it was your way of torturing me it sure worked. The only time when it didn’t hurt as much was when I fell asleep, when my mind was free to run it’s own race, to dream of fairies and fairytales.
Since that day you left, all I can think about is Cyanide. Not because I want to kill myself, but because that’s what it feels like. Slow and painful when I’m awake. How we became cyanide together. How we each smelled so good- the fragrance of you carries on even when you’re not around. How that sweet smell is slowly shutting me down.
I don’t remember how long it took for me to completely get over you, I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone like you, I don’t know if you can ever erase that smell. But know this- when you left, something inside me died along with you.
And every now and then, I remember how you were my Cyanide. And yet, your smell keeps me wanting more and I die a death all over again.
aLLy
author’s note:
We were watching CSI and He told me what Cyanide was. And soon after, this story was bubbling inside my head. That and the fact that I had a nightmare today gave me a story to write.
