journal · letter

You Became My Life

I can see you now, in my mind, at the door on Valentine’s Day with flowers in hand and a kiss, so sweet. Then smiling that beautiful smile, the real one, the one I only see when you are truly relaxed. But no, that would never happen, it is fancy and fantasy and hope, that unforgiving and unrelenting bitch of an emotion that just won’t let go of me. I see us, in the mountains, in the parking lot that first night, in the glowing dark in our room, and I think of all the passion that we did have, all the moments where my heart was leaping and my body was electric near your own, and I weep. I weep because we did have something and I cannot comprehend how or why it was lost to us. I am suddenly reminded of that conversation, so many nights ago, where I told you that you could be and do anything you wanted, anything at all, if you just put your mind and heart to the task, and that the people who love you wish for nothing more in this world than to see you happy, healthy, and whole. I see you as you were then and how you changed so swiftly, you became so much more, pushing through the anger to the pain at the heart of it all, the pain of reality, with tears in your eyes and a keen desire to change for the better. You did it. You are doing it even as I write. I still believe in those words and in you. I see you, staring me down, as cold as stone and stoic with an anger so venomous that a glance was poisonous and words were deadly. I see you in peaceful slumber and remember wishing you could feel just so in waking life. I see you as happy, as sad, and everything in between and know that there was not a single part or parcel of you that I did not love completely, good or bad, beautiful or ugly. And I realized what hurts the most is not necessarily that you are gone and may never return, but that we were never in the same place, that we might never be. And I truly do not believe that a love like this will ever come to me again.


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