For a very long time, there remained a vague knot of something in my chest that I never was able to shake off. Over the past few years I have failed to put into words these tight contractions that embed itself at the core of my being; was it merely coincidental that these episodes replay itself the very second my eyes recognize the image of you?
You were right, my heart is stubborn. It regularly mumbles and convinces itself to repel against the slightest knack of interest from another, anyone who isn’t you. You would have assumed that by now, this long period of convalescence has in some way restored and nursed my heart back into what it once was. But no.
You are wrong. Whatever we shared, the memory of us seeped deep into my every vein that no amount of time could ever cure the hole it made in me. My love for you, as I know it – never ceased. I loved you then, and a piece of me still does today. My heart has no desire for another. Unlike our little “forever” that retained its lingering effect till today, I absolutely abhorred the thought of having to nurture a feeling that has not yet had the baptism of time. Perhaps, that was my conception of purity. For what can stand against the testament of time, surely possesses (at least to some degree of precision) the luster of a chaste and gentle origin.
Saying yes to him was just another writhed encounter in my library. How was I to acquaint myself with the company of another when it was you who planted the very seeds of humanity in me? It sprouted into a forest of heaven. You crafted a Universe where the sun never sets. With your long, knuckled but thin fingers, you traced the Garden of Eden and illuminated all of what could be good. You perfected my idea of righteousness when all I thought comprised within me was nothing but darkness. How was anyone else to compare to that? They gave me what they thought I wanted but you gave me everything I needed.
I hated the way my fingers looked and you took them, interlocked them, and showed me that you loved how every finger nestled perfectly against yours. You held your hand up towards the sun and told me how despite having long fingers, your huge knuckles formed creaks that stopped them from closing completely, allowing little streaks of an orange glow to creep itself through the little cracks of your hand, onto my face. Who cared about my stubby fingers? You loved them anyway. I detested the rolls on my tummy and you cradled them with such gentleness and care, tracing its outline ever-so-slightly, kissed it away of its shame and loved them no matter how it stuck out. The word “love” never evaporated from your lips, it ingrained itself when you wrapped my most delicate parts, in the smoothest silk you had to offer.
The only constant is change but darling, why is it I still feel your breath against my skin as if it’s never left? Maybe this is the knot I have been struggling to put into words. Your image in my mind no longer matches the person that my eyes lay upon. There are no identical sunrises and sunsets, despite there being just one Sun. Perhaps no matter how radical love may be, the laws of nature still apply. Whatever I am reminiscing at this moment is just a desiccated history of memories you may never wish to revisit. What is obsolete to you is the only thing allowing me to live this life voraciously. For I know I once had been a part of something pure. You gave me an immense amount that no matter how insane I may sound, my being adapted itself to you. Like how the skin perfectly shapes itself to muscle and bone, my heart still beats to the same rhythmic pattern it once was so familiar with, today.
And perhaps this explains that this knot of something may very well turn into the recurring twinge I feel whenever I see you with her. The haunting thought of her receiving a slice of what I used to have (or maybe even more), is not merely a slit in the throat. It sits on the border between pain and agony. I can never quite separate the two when it came to you, I guess you can say you were the sole person to throw me on the extreme ends of the spectrum. Like I said, it is not a mere slit in the throat, but a jab of euthanasia. No instant pain or graphic bloody spurts, instead, a slow, dying agony coated in the delusional hope of “it’s better this way”.
If I happen to be so lucky as to have you read this, I want you to know that: there was never a moment I have forgotten how it was like to love you. You were the only person I so fearlessly and fiercely felt for. Perhaps prior to your presence in my chapter, I never knew what love really was. But that chapter has ended, and now I do. Love is everything. The joy, the tears, the anger, the pain. Everything I have endured, was for love. Love was never easy, loving you was far from being a simple task, but it was worth it. Given everything that has happened, no matter how far our lives stray from each other, no matter who we end up with, know that I loved you then and it would be a lie to say I no longer do now.
If the Universe ever so happen to conspire our paths again after years of meandering, I would gladly and completely, give whatever that remain in my bones, to you. Should that fail, I shall take whatever’s reserved for you and bury it with me in my grave, hoping to resurrect it in another dimension. For a love that is not with you is a love that refuses to live in this Universe.
Read more about this at thoughtcatalog.com.