Letters I never wrote
I contemplate life at night while I figure out how to remain in yours without losing mine. Without losing my life, my sanity, my everything- You are the bane of my existence.
I imagine it to be a mirage- my idea of you. All so blurry because that memory of mine runs parallel to what reality has now become.
I remember the look in your eyes. I remember your eyes, the ones that were stars enough for me …An ocean in itself that engulfs me. I could never take my eyes off them.
No, I don’t know how to swim. I know how to drown…in your eyes; yes, I do.
I look into you, engulfed in the beauty of your presence; you were my moon…Long enough until I realized that you were the sun, for I was Icarus.
So I long to fill the absence I have felt after you left…but only that I cannot. Those memories fill me with hurt, knowing you’ll say one more thing to shatter the image I’ve had of you. The image you ever so sweetly painted such as the butterflies canvassed the sky with the stroke of their wings.
A poet’s muse is immortalized with words, aren’t they? It’s impossible to get you out of my mind, but it doesn’t hurt that you left. It doesn’t hurt that your words became dust while mine bled with ink. What hurts is that we discussed it. We talked about you leaving, our goodbye; about the punchline of the book of you and I; and you laughed. You laughed.
And then you left.
And I’m good with it. I’m good with how you left without ever looking back, with how you broke every single one of your promises and how you broke me, little by little.
But I’m not fine with I never figured out you could never take any less than three sugar cubes in your coffee. Three, every single time.
But I’m not fine with how I never understood why the stars never fascinated you like the silence did, why the thorns that made you bleed never hurt you, why your smiles were the brightest after 2am, why your voice was tired by 7pm, why you always did the absolute opposite of what I told you to do, why the people that broke you meant the most to you, why you hid from the sunrise every morning, why you were so scared of me leaving when you were the one who left without saying goodbye and why you could never take any less than three sugar cubes in your coffee. Three, every single time.
Moving on is not like ‘ripping off a band-aid. It’s jabbing a knife in my heart- twisting it around brutally again and again- and then asking me who hurt me. There is no getting over you.
The past is done…The present, oh, to hell with it. I cannot imagine finding someone who could be like you. Not a single person could understand my silence and the depth of my eyes the way you did. But the future?
In the future…I hope that if you were ever to fall in love again. I hope you fall in love with me. And I hope we do it right this time.
