I want your absolutes that I will be loved again.
I met him at 15 or so, my heart soared then, unrequited for a few years, and even then, when it was, melancoly and half warmed, I accepted a half cocked version that wasn’t what I had read or seen or heard about. Figuring it closer to reality I took it and ran, muttering to myself “he loves you. it’s ok. It’s fated!”
Except the rub. I don’t believe in fate. I didn’t then and I really don’t now, instead believing that I took what I needed at the time, a body to hold me, words to whisper wet in my ears, someone, something to come home to instead of an empty bed and a mirror I had to face on my own.
We accept things through a lifetime. Things we perhaps wouldn’t accept out of hand but sitting atop a pile of yesterday’s and whatfor’s we just take and walk free. Until we sit down and really look at what we have, or what we don’t have, and realize that without passion, without a victory to be proud of, without someone truly and willingly listening to our days and stories, there’s nothing there. There is nothing more than an emptiness more profound than that which we find at the end of our mirrors.
We end with years of nothing. Years of tired weighted glances we’re just too exhausted to pursue. Years of half measures, of shrugs, and arguing and tears and screaming and black hands. We end these years panting and lustless, worn from running to keep up with the myth we’ve created for each other. We’re better on paper than we’ll ever be in real life, better in the mists of memory, tied to TV Shows and records.
But promise me I’ll feel that again, that silk shudder in my chest, across my breasts, the goosepimples inside my elbows and ears that made me quiver, promise me that someone will glance my way and convince me I’m just a bird on a draft, floating effortlessly upwards. Promise me love. Promise me magic. Promise me songs in the morning, new gifts at dawn, kisses at twilight, ghosts at night. Promise me this won’t be forever, this ache, this haunting where a person was, were someone should be. I’m better paired, tethered to a creature who knows the other side of me, filling the hole that’s already begun to clear.
I’m not meant to be alone, not for real. Promise me I won’t be.