It was the seventh of December. The coldness and bitterness of winter, I could never forget. I sat on the floor of my still apartment, remembering the times we had spent here on the carpet. Speaking only with our eyes; our souls tangled tightly together, as if we were only one existence. I was reminiscing on the way you once fit so seamlessly between my thighs. My brain was racing at the memory of you’re fingers tracing my skin and hair. All the while, we stayed awake for hours watching for the sun to rise. I kept those feelings in a pretty Rx bottle, and on the days they flooded in, they weren’t so hard to swallow. The Notebook whispered quietly on the flatscreen, serving as a poor distraction while I sat and waited. I stared at my blank notebook page. I wanted to write you one last time. I wanted to write something beautiful, Incase you ever needed reminded. The same way I wrote you in the beginning. At the start of this journey, when you were freshly released from prison. When you had hopes of a new life you picked to spend with me. I thought it was story of love that we were writing. My anticipation grew as minutes were passing.My heart had been racing but it started collapsing. You said you were walking over, “See you in a bit.” I was already nervous, anxiously trying, but failing to hide it. Feeling an array of emotion, not one of them I was content with. My heart ache was raining, pouring from my eyes. Before our last encounter, I used to think I was good at goodbyes. I knew it was the end but I never really meant it. I tasted your lips one last time, they were flavored of sadness, regret, and resentment. I guess, I knew things were changing, transitioning with time, but the depth, the gravity I couldn’t fathom in my mind. Those drugs hit your veins instantly holding you a familiar captive. I’m jealous of the substances. I’m jealous of way they dwell inside you. I envy the way your warm, soft lips invite them. They caress all your darkness and whisper to your demons. They get to trace along the cut outs of your skin and dance along the structure of your bones. They get to be where I should be, where I once called home. They get to be what I only dreamed to be for you. They get to finish the story I had only started writing with you. I hadn’t scribbled out one word, as I heard the twist of the **** on the door. As soon as our eyes met, on the very last one, of our just one mores. I saw what used to be you, the phantom of the man I fell into. I saw what looked like you, but was nothing more than the shadow that drowned me in a dark downpour.
Probably needs proofread and edited but my laptop wasn’t working so I used my phone.. :) deal with it.