Nostalgia

Ghosts

As the years rolled on, I thought your memory would fade away like the smoke blown from my lips. But that was never the case. When you first left I was ripped to shreds, divided between all my friends, isolated. I cried every night, I held my phone in my hand, your contact pulled up and my thumb resting on the button. But only once did I press it, and you answered. I don't remember our conversation, but I remember the exact cadence of your voice—when you're annoyed, sad, I even remember the sound of your laugh—and I remember I was left crying again.

                                                                                   ☾  

We spent our days sitting behind an old rundown church, sometimes talking, sometimes not. But even silence with you was lovely. I was too nervous to touch you at first, only able to catch sideways glances at you. You noticed and in such a level voice—but also equally nervous, I think—said to me, "You know, you don't need an invitation," and held your arms out. I let myself fall into you, and your warmth. You had a scent I could never place, a perfume I still have yet to find. I inhaled it like it was oxygen, I swear it intoxicated me.

The first time you kissed me with an open mouth, my knees buckled. My brain was a whirlwind; I forgot where I was, even my own name. You were so gentle, and afraid. Our lips were trembling and I could hardly catch a breath and afterwards you apologized, which I still don't understand why, because that was the only kiss I ever had that made me feel that way. And I replied sheepishly, "Practice makes perfect." And god, did we have practice. I could've spent all my hours, days, and nights kissing you. It's been five years since I last kissed you, and I still remember the exact way I felt during every one.

Should I be dwelling on these memories, such a long time later? Probably not. But I can't keep my mind from wandering the planes of your face, the hidden freckles that only the sunshine could reveal. I too often find myself swimming—drowning—in your icy azure eyes.

I lay awake most nights wincing in the dark, remembering. I can't stop the ghosts from pulling the memories out through my ears. And it's always the same scene, always the same dance. Me, running towards you, and you pulling away.

You have no idea how badly I wish I could turn back all the clocks, years into the past, and do it all over again. From the very first time we met. I hope you never think I didn't notice you even from the start. With your wild curly hair that you hadn't yet learned to straighten, I related to you right then and there, though I hid my own unruly hair beneath headbands. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't make a word leave my lips.

Others were unkind to you and I sat idly by, mouth clamped shut. I should've spoken up.

I spent months obsessing over finding love. I am not a person unless I have another person. It's just how I'm hardwired. And I latched onto the wrong person, and I got used and hurt. And you warned me. I should've listened.