The Beginning of Life as We Know It

She asked me not to write about her

She asked me not to write about her, but here I sit at my computer typing my feelings as the indigo ink of reality falls in salty droplets and stains my shirt with sadness - I can feel my heartbeat but not my heart.

Maybe I'm breaking some unspoken rule by writing about It but she broke the unspoken rule of not speaking so all is fair in love and war. Maybe she really did like me for a week but that was then and this is now; now my heart tells me not to fall in love with the girl who fell in love with space and the space between us but not with me.

Reality doesn't need a physical love to stick to the heart; it's easy enough for emotions to trap a soul in time.

To that girl,
It wasn't the fact that you don't like me that hurts, it was everything that I thought was actually true - the 3 a.m. conversations about the universe, the way you called me "love" - that I find myself wishing I could still keep in the present tense. I wish I could still say someone liked me because most of the time I don't particularly like myself.

You asked me not to write about you but life is short so I try not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of saying true things and writing on subjects that ought to be written about.