I remember how it felt
When I looked at you
Before your eyes met mine,
When I saw you again
After seven (gruesome) years.
It felt very final.
I knew I loved you,
But I kept thinking
All through out lunch,
"This is it. The end all, be all."
The thing is, I knew.
I knew that when I saw you
While I was crossing the street
From the apartment complex to the restaurant, while my heart was exploding
With giddy butterflies, that this was it.
That it was you.
That there wasn't going to be anyone else.
And maybe there never was.
At least, not for me.
I looked at you the same way on Saturday afternoon.
It felt very final.
Even though I felt like there were a thousand sirens going off in my head,
There was one part of my mind that was silent, save for one fact.
That it was you.
That it had always been you.
There never was anyone else.
At least, not for me.
I'm not like you.
We're two very different creatures,
I tried to tell you this after I placed the things
I felt the need to return to you on our bed.
I tried to tell you that you deserve someone like you.
Because you do.
You deserve, at the very least, to be understood.
I am not like you.
I do not have primal, instinctual attraction.
I cannot look at others as though they
Are plausible mates.
I can't do this, because they aren't.
I have you, and only you.
I am not like you.
You, who can set down roots
And make a home out of wherever
Your head rests.
I cannot root myself,
I don't know how to have a home.
I've got wandering in my blood,
My bare feet were made for running away.
I don't know how to make roots.
I don't think I ever knew.
On Saturday (and every day since),
I have looked at you with the same finality that I had when I saw you again for the first time.
The same love.
The same longing to be able to make you my home.
The same remorse and guilt I always feel when I have to get up and leave what I love, because I simply cannot stay.
Because I don't know how to have a home, and it is a fools game to try to make a home out of a person.
I was trying to leave, because people like me don't deserve people like you. People like you, who are good and patient and compassionate, and have hearts made from gold, and souls stitched from clouds. People like you shouldn't spend time on people like me. People like me, who are petty and volatile and selfish, and have broken glass for hearts and souls made out of ash and smoke.
I was trying so hard to do the right thing,
For once.
To be selfless,
For once.
To give you a chance at a better life.
But then, with tears in your eyes,
You asked me to stay.
And I don't know why you would want someone like me to stay. Someone who runs as far as they can, constantly. Someone who can't make the sun come out from behind the clouds.
But when I looked at you,
I hated myself for putting so much dark pain in your bright blue eyes.
So, I looked at you like I've been looking at you. I took in every detail. I took note of every part of your face I had never told you I loved, even though I do. Like the bridge of your nose, or your cheek bones or the way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks when you blink, or how your hair sometimes curls into a swoop on your forehead. Or how your eyebrows are never really all that messed up but you always have at least one hair sticking out of place. Or how your jaw tightens when you're upset and trying to control it, and it makes your chin poke out just a little bit. Or how you flatten your lips into a line when you're thinking, or when you bite them when you're trying not to feel.
Or how your tears made the blue in your eyes brighter, and it reminded me what it was about rain I used to find so beautiful.
I was looking at you, and have been looking at you,
Like it was the last time.
Because you never know when that will come.
So, I was selfish.
And even though I had caused those tears, you asked me to stay.
And I don't know how to stay.
I don't think I ever did.
But for you, I could learn.