One day, mid-kiss, I asked you how kissing me felt. You pushed your lips against mine a few more times before parting your lips to say, “it’s like two soft rose petals pressing against my lips.” Kiss. “Like cumulus clouds.” I smiled into you and knew you meant it.
You used to capitalize the “B” in “beautiful” each time you’d say “goodnight Beautiful,” like it was my first name. Like I was the only “Beautiful” you cared to acknowledge in this world. And maybe I was just in that moment.
Sadness is sometimes confusing. Sometimes consuming.
I used to write you love letters across your skin when we laid together at night. When you’d stumble in my room late at night and whisper, “hey love” before kissing my cheek. You used to tell me about your day at 3AM, and I’d hum and tell you how proud of you I was, even if you never told me you were proud. I was always building you up.
293 days of you. I used to ask you how you knew you loved me because I knew exactly how I loved you. How unreal is it to look right into my eyes and say it with conviction but to deny it to someone else. Just transactional. Hmm. Imagine what could’ve been if you’d been honest with me, but more importantly, yourself.
You will keep running. You will keep chasing. I will forever be part of your story. Not by choice but by default. Remember when you fell madly for me? Remember the tranquil days, the quiet afternoons spent in serenity? You will forever remember me in moments I gave to you. And I hope your gut wrenches at every thought of me because you’re reminded of how you lost me.
dededos
areudirty
janainaart
theartofmadeline
titsay
