I still want more. ((Frerard))

I saw myself shine brightly in your eyes

We used to meet once every year, after the breakup.

It was kind of a silent agreement we made, since seeing each other for more than once per year would have been incredibly dangerous, mostly because of our destructive nature. We would have destroyed ourselves until the point where we'd have been nothing but blood and guts shattered against the walls.

And we really didn't want to end up like that, even though maybe we deserved it.

And when I say we deserved it's because we really did, with all the hearts we broke just to recover from our own heartbreak.

I knew both Lindsay and Jamia suffered like shit because of us, even if they told us that it was okay and that they understood. We were so damn lucky to have them, they were perfect, but they weren't enough, because we craved the other's attention and love. We craved each other's heart, and we both wanted those blood-filled organs only for us.

He held mine in his hands and I held his in mine.

No one else could do such a thing.

This year, however, was completely different, because he was going to leave, forever.

He had the chance of his life and he took it, even though it meant leaving me, too. All I could think about, while I was driving to the place where I'd meet him, was that I could have been with him, I could have left with him, if only I wasn't a fucking selfish coward.

But anyway, I was meeting him to say goodbye and maybe tell him some of the stuff I left unsaid.

Through the past years, I hadn't said him so many fucking things, like that I loved his songs and I knew them all word by word, or that I thought that his messy and long hair was really cute and so on.

A few hours would have never been enough to tell him everything, I was totally aware of that, but still.

The most important three words he'd love to hear come out of my mouth would never touch my lips, anyway, because I'd hurt him too much, even more than I ever did and it'd hurt me too.

Sometimes, late at night, he would send me a text, just saying he loved me. He used to say that a lot and every time he did, I could feel my heart crack and guilt drench me, tying my stomach into a tight knot.

I wanted to tell him I loved him too, because even if I didn't admit it either to myself, I did love him and maybe I still do. And maybe I'll never stop loving him and maybe we'll be able to be together once we're dead.

I thought a lot about it, about when we were going to be finally be free to be together. It wasn't really like we couldn't be together, it was just that we weren't supposed to do so, even more now that we both had kids.

Maybe if things would have been different in Boston...

I pushed the thought away, I couldn't deal with that right then, when I was going to see him in a few minutes.

I parked my car and walked for five minutes or so, torturing my hands, scratching nervously the skin near the nails. I was so damn nervous when it came to see Frank. I was a pretty chill person those days, the splitting of the band really helped me coming out all of my addictions, except for one, which I was looking at at that very moment, sitting on a bench.

He was even smaller than the last time I saw him, all curled up with his knees against his chest and lazily looking at the phone in his hands.

He looked lost, with that long and messy black hair.

I stopped for a second, staring at him from behind a column, and I realised how much I actually missed him.

I wanted to run and hug him so tight we'd both fall off and laugh.