13. July 2014
I never stopped loving him, even after they asked me to, even after he asked me to. In my mind it was never over, even after it was over, even after it died. I still wept and laughed for him, I still woke in the morning thinking of him and though I never said it out loud, I still mourned him. I dreamt of nights sweating in his room, bed sheets clinging to our skin, hands intertwined tightly and small kisses on the inside of thighs. I still miss watching him sleep, the way his chest would cave with every breath he softly exhausted, the freckles that lined his back and arms like road maps, the thick framed black glasses he would sit on his night stand when we crawled our exhausted bodies into bed, the jokes and sarcasm that easily flowed from his perfectly sculpted lips. I still ache for it all, how can one expect me not to? They can’t. It was— is, imperfect love, as all love goes. It is a love that continues to grow stronger in absence. It’s is love that made my sanity fleet away, carrying rational thought on it’s shoulders, love that makes me curse a god I don’t believe in and every person who told me it was going to be okay. It will never be okay, not while he is gone from me. Every night I dream of him, lasts nights was the worst. He would come to me, in an old abandon building where we met on the stairs and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him between my legs, I could feel his warmth again, I could smell his breath and the salt of his skin and then his phone would ring. On the other end was a voice telling him to come home and he would, he would leave me. I beg him not to but he walks down the old staircase and as the door closes behind him it crumbles like ash, I run after him but he is no where. Just an empty city at night and I woke with the same empty feeling I have grown so accustom to. Everyday the thought of never seeing him again becomes more real but I refuse to accept such a sorrowful fate, such a deep gut wrenching path. I refuse to believe he does not love me anymore. No. Love is still here. It has to be. It is.