You have been gone a long time, love- and in time, I have learnt to miss you lesser each day. But every time I think of us, I miss us with the same passion that drove our wildly beating hearts towards each other. It’s been a conscious thing, I guess- not easy but not impossible and I have taught my heart to let you go. Because you aren’t mine to keep. Us, however, is. And shall always be. Of course, I have taught my heart to not think of us every waking moment, so life becomes easier to be in– and also, think of us in stolen moments, so I could quickly set them away when reality creeps in- but I am failing today. There is no washing away your memories today- no way to fade out your presence from my heart.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
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As I sit here and turn the pen over like ‘tis a wand that can bring you back, I realize you are, at once, the most present and the most absent you’ve ever been. I pour your memory on paper, in a hand you thought was adorable, and suddenly, the words crack into your familiar smile. Between the jagged letters of my spider scrawl, your face leaps up like a cloud about to burst with memories. It starts soft, small pellets of US splashing on my hands as I struggle to turn them into a story I want to tell– quickly turning crazily chaotic, like it means to keep hammering until the words smudge together like a Monet masterpiece. I have never felt your memories pound so mercilessly on me. I miss us, most of the time I guess- but it has always been in a soft downpour. Like when I’d invite your thoughts to splatter on my outstretched fingers so they could run down like rivulets coming home, or fold my arms around myself in the best hug I could have without you being there. Like when I’d dance barefoot in the puddles that grant me a fleeting visit to our times together or when the raindrops plaster my hair to my face and I wish upon the stars for you to kiss it away. Today was no different- I wanted to write about us and all I asked for was a whispering hum as the memories bore down on my love-forsaken diary but I got a thunderous orchestra instead, asking for a sing-along my voice is too choked to succeed at.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
I am losing control, I guess. My heart is asking to be set free- and play all old archived records at once, rebelling against the silence I have imposed on it far too long. I am not ready to spur those tears I have long kept at bay, not ready to fall back into the past where everything is a reminder of what IS not- and yet, it is happening. WE are unraveling on paper, like we’ve just made love here. I can almost feel his fragrance soak into the page, and spread out so I wouldn’t know how to breathe without it ever again. He is filling this room slowly- his laughter echoing inside the walls of my heart, his breath becoming my own, his memory indistinguishable from ME.
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I am lost, without the security I have held on for this time. I am lost, without the knowledge that I can lock your memories at will and then, crawl back in when I want. I am lost without the assurance that my visit to the memoryland shall not be washed out by the rain. Because this rain is all YOU- and it is pounding hard. Terrifying and yet, hauntingly beautiful, it is drawing out images of US- walking hand in hand on cobbled streets, kissing under the stars, looking at each other like nothing else existed- blurring each image as quickly as it is etched to replace it with another; and it is overwhelming. I miss us like I have never missed us before- and I am scared. It makes me happy, which is odd because I know it’s all in the past and it scares me, because I am acutely aware that I may not have been doing as well with ‘US’ and our memories as I led myself to believe. You are ever-present and still have the power to bring me crumbling down in one weak moment. That’s scary. What’s even scarier is that I would willingly invest that power in you- because somewhere, deep down inside me, I am still in love with you. I want to shift the words I am writing and turn the page to a happy ending, pretend like I got my personal fairytale in you- but I do not have that power. Your memories play on, like a broken record on loop, lying and scheming to prevent me from beginning a chapter that does not have YOU- and I am surprised I am yielding. You have brought on a storm and like the faintest rustle of breath on my being, I have fallen. Against my will, and yet, so willingly I’d have never known I had it.
I have missed us, all this while.
I miss us, all the time.
But I am missing you, like I have never missed you before.
I want to stop- and I can’t. Because maybe, we aren’t done. Maybe I need to find the way out. Maybe there’s more to the story than I have cared to tell. And I know it’s true.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
I need to write more than about our love, more than about us – because just like I am trying hard to seek out the sun in the middle of the storm, there are other people in need of clear skies too. Maybe when they read my love story, they want to know that there is a way. Maybe when they read my story, they hope that there’s hope. So, I need to do this. I have to find my way to the next chapter and maybe when I do, my footprints can leave the trail that other people need to stop saying ‘I miss us.’
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