When I stand before myself in death, I want to look at myself only and know I fell in love with every detail I possibly could.
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I lie in width and wallow in length. We can die a thousand times and I’d still remember your face. Your name burns with the moon as I transcend. It’ll be a hundred million years and I know we will meet again. You make moments out of nothing, scents out of what used to be. Words seem to ricochet off what could have been. A cliche in the wind, a walk down the street we had left each other in. You make moments out of touching and longing out of more than something.
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Some things are exactly how we leave them. Years go by and we long, passion builds, loss extends and we miss forbidden memories. Every once in awhile I long for what used to be instead of what is. I remember how I left it, last words said, how your voice echoes. It’s not sadness. It’s not quite happiness. It was bittersweet. Things were bittersweet. I still think of it quite often and wonder if the memories for you ever soften.
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Your skin was poetry to me. The depth I felt, the way you felt metaphorically. You go deep, but we went deeper. I bend in thoughts of you. Eight years and I still die to think of you. We break in question, we mend in moments, and when we fall, we fall for eternity.
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It was your voice in the eve and the wind against me. The way your words used to caress, how we’d disagree. I reminisce in toxicity because it feels good to feel a dark electricity.
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I forgave you, but it took me a long time to forgive myself. We reminisce in reason to create ideas of rebellion. I rebelled against the idea of happiness. When you wallow, it feels hollow, and you follow the thought of a sullen sadness. You break to bend in situations you leave yourself in. You become in moments of sadness as you find the strength to pull through.
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Becoming older didn’t sadden me. The realization that time actually moves made me sad. Years go by and moments become older. Distance becomes longer. Moments which were yesterday suddenly span decades. I don’t miss myself as a child. I miss the moments in my childhood which founded the person I am today. Curiosity, conversations, touch, and hurt – those are things I miss. Those are things which made me who I am.
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I used to look in the mirror and fall in love with myself more each day. One day that stopped and I didn’t realize it until I started to love myself again.
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I like to understand sadness because sometimes I believe it’s the only thing I can comprehend.
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In theory, it never worked. Yet I saw us like an unfinished book. Chapters build, metaphors create, words enhance, and in the end it still made no sense.
