Thursday, 12 July 2012
i know he�s not there
Time will pass by and I begin to feel like I�ve finally met someone that can loosen the reigns on my heart. There is always a comparison though, and in this case nice guys don�t finish last. Nothing else feels right. No one. If I�m in bed laying with someone, I can feel his body next to mine, and I know he�s not there. And I know that cold chill that suppresses my lung capacity, making it hard to breathe, is the lack of his sweet warmth; that sadness. And all I can say is as simple as it sounds-I miss him.
I�ve left behind the customs of a child. I prospered into an adult. I�ve felt abandonment and suffocation. I�ve been slandered, and I�ve been slaughtered with my vibrant blood smeared upon my own praying hands. Martyr has become my suffix. For over one thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven days, I have wanted to efface them all, minus one.
Four years ago, our leg muscles would swell as we walked for hours. The sweat in our hands would suction onto one another, closer and closer. And just like our entire situation, when we tried to pull apart, it was forced back in stronger, and much more secure. He lured me in fast and hard. I gave him all of me to hold onto for the rest of his life. I stored myself away for him, hoping to be explored in new ways everyday by only him. Our searching hands lead us to absolute love; it was real, and it was alive. There should have been a �happily ever after� at the end of it all. And I sometimes correct myself by saying, there shouldn�t have been an ending. Without any excuses, I let it fail. It was a period of depression that hit me like a midnight train out of nowhere. He knew, and he did nothing but show me that he was going to be there for me no matter what happened. It seemed like all too much to handle, and I left. I was so scared, and I don�t know of what. I knew I was petrified though. Petrified of being in love maybe. Knots of guilt and anger build from my stomach to my throat and boil like scorching tar. It makes me sick, and it makes me cry. Every. Single. Day. And God, he was beautiful. He had taught me, and made me feel, raw emotion in it�s purest form and how to use it. He was perfect in every way that existed. The way his mind worked, the way that he would speak so soft spoken, and how he felt. His aura would leave me in amazement. And I loved nothing more than that gorgeous smile.
Even after we were apart, him and I spoke. A new woman was in his life, and I was angry that he was with her. Not jealous, not at all. I was angry that he wasn�t treated the way he should have been treated. I know I had left, and breaking a heart is the worst that can be done, but I always treated him like the prized possession that he was. This girl raped him for his happiness. He lost himself entirely. And I tried to tell him to leave her, telling him the inverse of something is not that something�s opposite, but rather, it is that somethings turned around, and pulled inside out. I insisted that when you add two opposites together, you get zero. Zero is the embodiment of nothing. And I told him, �I�m sorry, but you two are nothing.� I couldn�t tell him what to do. So I swallowed my tongue and I let him read the words backing up in my eyes. After we�d secretly seen each other, he�d tell me how it�s so wrong how he feels for me, and wishes that there was never a break between us. And to this day, nothing has changed. I am made of a fragile heart that�s in excruciating pain. I don�t know how to gain closure, I don�t know how to properly move on. Memories have burned into the pitch black canvas that appears when I close my eyes.
Does it sound desperate? I wouldn�t doubt it, but following my doubts has left me in regret. To his face, through a phone, miles, and states away, if this ever comes across your screen- I miss you. I love you. I wish I could have one more kiss goodbye, one more whispered goodnight when you�ve already fallen asleep. This has all become indistinguishable.