It’s strange how I still want you. How I still want you close to me, here I am in my chest.
I miss the way you hooked me and held me there in your embrace. I still want to get lost in you. I tried not to think about anything when I was with you, I was full of you.
Remember that day when we went for a walk and you took my hand in the middle of the street? I looked at you from the corner and I missed the show of affection. You smiled, knowing that it had made me happy.
You knew exactly what to do to make my heart skip so happy.
Our hands were sweating, out of timidity or fear of letting go and could no longer catch.
When we passed people and they looked, I bet they felt our energy. We really looked like a couple. It was wonderful to have my world entwined in my hand. I smiled foolishly, and I thought we would succeed. I felt your fresh breath on my neck, I wished I never let you go.
Remember that night when a song played softly on the phone, you took my hand and pulled me out to dance in the same room? There I thought I was in the best place in the world. There I wanted the world to stop just for a few minutes.
I snuggled into you and felt your scent. Even without wanting to, I already knew I was falling in love with you. When we slept together that night, I woke up at dawn and watched you sleep, wrapped my finger in one of your curls, put a hand on your face … Everything seemed so surreal, you there with me.
You moved and reached for my hand, held it tight and carried it to your chest. In the morning when I woke up, it was you who was watching me, your eyes were shining and for a moment I thought you were in love with me too. The fear of being disheveled vanished as soon as you hugged me.
You hide your feelings well, it’s hard to decipher.
“And it really was not me, it was never me. It has always been you. The reason for my most spontaneous smiles and now the heavier tears. You overflowed, and suddenly, with each word, I emptied myself a little more. You who complete me, started to mess with me and despise me … Me and my love. Only my love, I and a series of questions.”
We held each other and talked, you smiled and made me smile too. You loved the sound of my laughter.
It said I had a unique way of smiling and telling things. There looking at you, I felt like saying everything I felt. I felt like saying how much I wanted to be with you, how much I was sure we could work out despite our differences, how well we fit together.
So I was afraid, I let it go. I hid my feelings, hid all the love that grew inside me. Even then everyone already knew what I felt, except you.
I felt foolish to have been so attached to me so easily, so quickly.
But with you the world was spinning slowly, I felt that with you I could be whatever I wanted, including myself. Maybe I was suspicious, but I did not admit to myself that you were not reciprocal. And I really do not find justification to explain. I can not say why … Nor could you tell me.
Anyway, when I finally got the guts and dumped everything on you, I got emoji and a few words as an apology. I received things like “I do not feel prepared for a relationship” , “it’s not you, it’s me”.
And it really was not me, it was never me. It has always been you. The reason for my most spontaneous smiles and now the heavier tears. You overflowed, and suddenly, with each word, I emptied myself a little more. You who complete me, started to mess with me and despise me … Me and my love. Only my love, I and a series of questions.
Maybe we were too immature. After a while I refitted, I rejoined, I filled in. I made promises too, and most of all, I swore to forget you. I failed. Of all the uncertainties you have given me, one single certainty I have is that I have loved you in the most sincere way in the world. That you can not deny.
I gave you a little bit of myself, but I did not ask for anything in return. I fell in love with every detail of you, including your silly mania. I who always believed in “forever”, again I repeat, maybe one day you come back here and we get it right. And on that day I’ll only accept you if, with you, in any corner or in your pocket, have a little love.
Only if you’re willing to love. Then you will understand why I write so much about you.