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I loved and I loved and I lost you. •
It had always been on the rainiest days that I would be reminded of him.
On the rainiest days we would stay in bed a little longer, he would hold me a little tighter, and I would be a little happier.
The smallest moments shared between us were the ones I missed the most.
I would wake up to the smell of breakfast and he would smile as I hop onto the counter, teasingly poking him to distract him.
He would kiss me good morning and what started as a quick peck would turn into long, perfervid kisses.
We would kiss and kiss until it feels like we're drowning into each other.
(And when we smell the burnt bacon.)
I remember the nights when I'd come home from a stressful day at work and everything would be alright because I'd see him waiting for me with Chinese takeout and a movie.
I rarely told him 'I love you'. I was never good with words. I was better at expressing my love with actions; he knew I loved him because I would do small favours for him, he knew I loved him because I would listen to him when nobody else would.
He knew I loved him. Right?
When he left, he didn't leave many things behind. He left the Lucas the Good shirt and a navy blue coffee mug.
Sometimes I wore the shirt to sleep because it still smelled a little like him. Sometimes I closed my eyes and it would be like he was still here.
I stopped wearing it when it started to smell like fabric softener and his scent of fresh pine began to fade away.
The blue mug wasn't really something I could use. He made it in pottery class and didn't cover a small hole, making it impossible to drink out of it.
Sometimes I'd walk around Central Park and I'd glance at the bench we used to sit on to drink coffee and people-watch.
My heart breaks a little when I see an elderly couple instead of a tall, blonde, strikingly green eyed man.
Not only because he's not there, but because growing old together was what could have been.
People say time is a great healer but each day it gets harder and harder to believe that he's really gone.
That the last words that were ever said between us were yelled and filled with fiery rage.
Despite the messy way our relationship transpired, I never thought it would end this way. Because if you love someone, it should never end like that.
It should never end with one of us stuck in the same apartment and the other wandering about god knows where.
So maybe it isn't the end. Maybe it isn't the end of our story.
Sometimes to get to forever, you need to say goodbye.
Maybe the problem wasn't me and the problem wasn't him. Maybe loving each other too much was the problem.
Because he was the matchstick and I was the gasoline.
We burn and burn in passion and love.
We burn and burn, until we burn out.
So maybe it's a dumb decision, maybe it's not; to get drunk on a Saturday night and call that number I was supposed to delete, but didn't.
. . .
"Hey..."
. . .
"I know it's been a year..."
. . .
"But you were such a huge part of my life before and I just... I feel like I need to explain, I feel like I owe it to myself, and to you... or maybe not to you... but I need closure."
. . .
"Just please try to understand..."
It was only now that I realized that I didn't have much time to talk. And I didn't want to leave him so many voicemails, I didn't want to seem so desperate.
