Words All Over

I didn't know what to call it, what was happening between us, but I liked it.

This memory. I will only have this. I will always have this.

I will never have a photograph of her to carry around in my pocket. I will never have a letter in her handwriting, or a scrapbook of everything we've done. I will never know if we are listening to the same song at the same time. We will not grow old together. I will not be the person she calls when she's in trouble. She will not be the person I call when I have stories to tell. I will never be able to keep anything she's given to me.

If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn't care about us. Time doesn't care about us. That's why we have to care about each other.

She holds me. She holds me so hard there's no thought in it of letting go.

I want him to remember how it feels to hold her. I want him to remember how it feels to share the world with her. I want him, someone inside, to remember how much I love her. And I want him to learn to love her in his own way, having nothing to do with me.

It's goodbye to somethings. And hello to others.

When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways. I have no such consolation. This is why I cling so hard. This is why this is so hard.

Everything is in its right place, and my heart wants to believe this can always be true. My heart wants to make it true, even as something darker tugs it away.

We're in a bedroom, and there's bed. But that's not the reason why I brought her here.

No past. No future. Just present. Give it a chance.

Every person is a possibility. The hopeless romantics feel it most acutely, but even for others, the only way to keep going is to see every person as a possibility.

Is it sickness or is it heartbreak? I can't tell. The thermometer says I'm normal, but clearly I'm not.

Before we say goodbye, she kisses me with everything she has. And I try to kiss her back with everything I want. This is the nice note, I can't help thinking. But just like a sound, as soon as the note hits the air, it begins to fade.

It's easy to say, because it never has to be true.

Even if you were green and had a beard and a male appendage between your legs. Even if your eyebrows were orange and you had a mole covering your entire cheek and a nose that poked me in the eye every time I kissed you. Even if you weighed seven hundred pounds and had hair the size of a Doberman under your arms. Even then, I would love you.

If there were no one else involved, it would be an easy choice. But isn't that always the case? And there's always someone else involved.