Jul 2015
What if we let this love die and let it combust? Let it burn our souls and make the universe weep. What if we turn into dust? What if the love we thought was made from longing and craving becomes uneasy? I am terrified of all the possibilities.
I'm afraid for the person I will love after you. She will have to get used to my Freudian slips of your name on romantic dinner dates. She will read hints of you on my sad poems, even the happy ones I will write for her will carry your weight. She will cry the first night we make love, because the way I hold her will never be as perfect. She will sleep with a heavy heart knowing that the next day, she has to face your ghost again. She will wear my sweaters, your scent lingering on each thread stitching them together. She will deal with all my mess. She will answer all of my 2 am drunk calls. She will let me be drunk until I recover from you, she wishes. She will laugh a lot, I will make her laugh, yes, but not smile - her smiles will always be half-hearted. She will read books on my shelves; see your love letters tucked in ever so carefully in between the pages we both loved.
She will choke on the dust of our firsts and maybe have tears of joy because of our lasts. She will love versions of me I created after this destroyed me to my core. She will never know my childhood. She will try to take me in her arms when I relapse. She will carry my broken pieces, try to put them back together, and will just end up being broken, too. She will let me have the window seat. She will surprise me but will never get the same chest pains I had with you. She will take me to bridges, tunnels, buildings, and maybe supermarkets. She will just be the stop along the way because you will always be the destination. She will welcome me home with a hug, I might let out a sigh and a smile. She will settle for that because she knows you will always be my home.
She will go to museums with me just to see my eyes water with pride again. She will let me write about you, just so I can empty myself of the words I have kept for you, if ever you decided to come back. She will listen to playlists I made just to **** your voice in my head. She will try to fit my needs. She will let me cry, and tell her stories about you. It will break her but she will let me. She will try to replace you. She will try. Every single day. She will fail. Every single time.
It will be the worst. It will be unfair. It will be my 3 am regret while I shower with her, trying to scrub away the last time we did that together. It will be running away. It will be my destruction.
*I am afraid for the person I will (try to) love after you.
I'm afraid for the person I will love after you. She will have to get used to my Freudian slips of your name on romantic dinner dates. She will read hints of you on my sad poems, even the happy ones I will write for her will carry your weight. She will cry the first night we make love, because the way I hold her will never be as perfect. She will sleep with a heavy heart knowing that the next day, she has to face your ghost again. She will wear my sweaters, your scent lingering on each thread stitching them together. She will deal with all my mess. She will answer all of my 2 am drunk calls. She will let me be drunk until I recover from you, she wishes. She will laugh a lot, I will make her laugh, yes, but not smile - her smiles will always be half-hearted. She will read books on my shelves; see your love letters tucked in ever so carefully in between the pages we both loved.
She will choke on the dust of our firsts and maybe have tears of joy because of our lasts. She will love versions of me I created after this destroyed me to my core. She will never know my childhood. She will try to take me in her arms when I relapse. She will carry my broken pieces, try to put them back together, and will just end up being broken, too. She will let me have the window seat. She will surprise me but will never get the same chest pains I had with you. She will take me to bridges, tunnels, buildings, and maybe supermarkets. She will just be the stop along the way because you will always be the destination. She will welcome me home with a hug, I might let out a sigh and a smile. She will settle for that because she knows you will always be my home.
She will go to museums with me just to see my eyes water with pride again. She will let me write about you, just so I can empty myself of the words I have kept for you, if ever you decided to come back. She will listen to playlists I made just to **** your voice in my head. She will try to fit my needs. She will let me cry, and tell her stories about you. It will break her but she will let me. She will try to replace you. She will try. Every single day. She will fail. Every single time.
It will be the worst. It will be unfair. It will be my 3 am regret while I shower with her, trying to scrub away the last time we did that together. It will be running away. It will be my destruction.
*I am afraid for the person I will (try to) love after you.
Hello, feelings.
