We talk and we still feel it.
To deny it would be suicide, and at first, I thought it just me, feeling this ribbon between us, the soft ties. But no, he shakes his head, tries to fight it, yet feels it just the same.
A platform we alone live on. A space for us. The buttery smooth forever we glide in.
We don’t know. I don’t know. He doesn’t know. Does love have an expiration? Can you still feel it, not the biased love you have for family or the durable one reserved for children, but the thirsty love you have for the one meant for you, can you still feel that even if there’s something so irrevocably broken you can’t actually see around it? Does love play hopscotch in time, finding us 15 years ago, but then not again for another 5, or 15?
Can we love and yet still be completely and utterly wrong for each other, the us now, the us tomorrow as well?
There’s an ache when I imagine him gone-utterly foreign to me, not like losing my mother or being adrift in the world. The ache I imagine you’d feel if someone took your arm-the space once occupied never quite empty. He belongs with me, we belong with each other. Our souls know, somehow, and if I believed in other lives, I’d think we’d known each other then.
But maybe now wasn’t good either. Perhaps we should wait for another life, when we are both cats sipping on cream.
My heart, my head and my body are so woefully confused, conflicted and sad. What we have isn’t working, but being able to see the what was, the what could be-it’s so painful, like daggers.
I have not stopped loving him. I just do not love who he has become, and likely, this goes in the reverse. We aren’t those people anymore, but we just can’t seem to find each other right now. And it hurts. It hurts to watch the past wave in his eyes, and crave him then.
Maybe there’s no hope. There’s so much between us, and yet, there’s this rope, this line that pulls us, magnets to each other, and we both stand wondering if it means anything at all, too confused under it’s power to figure it out. I just want us to be happy, together, or apart. I just want happy.