#heartaache

@onsunnyside dis one goes out to u 😎

My life right now.

As bipedal humans, we have the ability to engage in terrestrial locomotion on foot. With every stride, there is a constant change in kinetic and potential energy. There was nothing else that Camden enjoyed more than running before sunrise. It offered him a momentary escape from things he wasn’t prepared to handle, things that involved becoming an adult. I remember the days Camden would come meet me after practice, how we would run across the sunset and back. We were closer on the track than we were when cocooned underneath blankets. In some alternate universe, I would be able to recant our story in a meticulous fashion, with chronicles that would sustain both romantics and cynics. Unscathed hearts would gather to hear about the seasons Camden and I conquered while those left jaded would welcome the idea of inevitability. They would leave only to run down familiar roads, coffee-eyed yet hopeful for the plot to thicken. It is fortunate for me that reality is somewhere less abstract and minimally idealistic. Here, my running shoes are dust collectors, as I stumble into a flat with soiled desert boots. My hands occupied along somebody else’s spine, making it easy to come back from moments of defeat, moments in which the absence of Camden was noticeable.

Last night I dreamt that we ran into each other at a train station in Montauk. You looked at me as though I was a familiar time and place, but not the kind that left you hopeful and brimming. I sat down at a bench nearby and hastily took out my moleskin to write you a letter. I started with a quote from the book you never got around to finishing by Chuck Klosterman, the one about Winona Ryder leaving Johnny Depp because there was a slight potential for transcendence in choosing the dark and depressing route. Then I remembered someone telling me that not everybody wants or needs a poetic explanation to why they were left, especially not from the asshole that left them. So I put a line through the quote and started jotting down memories of us in no particular order – I stopped reading as your pink cotton candy aroma filled my room, your smile and that white dress, puffy eyes against a royal blue wall, sea creatures on a shower curtain, double shot caramel macchiatos, the day you asked me if I would ever love you the way I loved him. I know you won’t believe in a possibility that stretches this far, but I still think of you…and I hope you have somebody that loves you more than I ever could. A gust of wind struck my jaw as I looked up to see where you were. The train was approaching as I tried to collect the details of this moment. I mustered up enough courage to walk over to you and hand you what I had written. You placed your pale hand on my cheek and said nothing. That was the last part of my dream that I could account for. I am starting to believe that we’ll probably never see each other again, and how I’m finally okay with that.