I still remember that night. The middle of July, it was perfectly clear. Muggy, warm, windy. I was watching Harry Potter.
And where did that leave us? Doubled over, spilling over, full to the brim and then some. My body wracked with giant sobs, I cried in your car. You put your hand on my back. God, I still loved you despite it. Your warm fingers, the ones I had held and kissed – could you feel my heart breaking? Tell me: did you know then how fragile I would become?
What was I supposed to do without you?
No one would ever come close. The first. The last.
I wanted you to hurt. I wanted to know that your heart was just as ragged and torn as mine. I wanted you to cry every night as I did.
Alone. Face buried in a pillow. Surrounded by memories of the first day your body – so perfect in every way – pressed mine, and how we laughed. Cursing the mind that refused sleep. Sleep, the only comfort I would know. Elusive. And then the tears. Hot, burning, sliding down my cheeks. Each ragged breath and whispered profanity echoed around the cavernous walls of my room. Every promise that would never be fulfilled tumbled in my brain.
I'd crawl out of bed; slide my feet across my floors in the dark. The stairs creaked in the same spots, just like always. But I felt each groan in my own body. My own foundation weighed down with what-ifs and I-should-haves. Regrets.
I'd hold that mug of tea, steaming between my numb fingers. I'd watch the home and garden channel, see places around the world while wrapped in a blanket.
"I'll go there," I'd say. "I think there is far enough."
I'm not the same anymore.
A heart that was once so full of love. Hope. Songs. Plans.
A place I built walls around. Every brick – the chance at a happier existence.
Existence. Life comes soon?
You can no longer have all of me.