Maybe theres nothing beautiful here.
Maybe there never was.
You are going to lay in fetal position and feel the palpable weight of his absence.
Joanna Nix
None of them matter.
None of them is him.
Youre going to run outside and gasp for air.
Who kissed me a little too hard.
Who never asked for permission.
Who laughed when I told him no.
Who never cared if I was okay.
Who never cared at all.
Maybe because you dared to hear me in a way no one ever had before.
Maybe because you made me feel like I deserved better.
Maybe I believed you.
And maybe that was my mistake.
But we were a love story, werent we?
Midnight walks arm in arm, conversations in the middle of a crowded bar.
Poring over books, and music, and art.
Stolen kisses and glances across the room.
I Love Yous and I Need Yous and Ill Never Leave.
Nature walks and drives across state lines.
Running through my parking lot in the dead of winter.
Whisky on our breath.
The 1 a.m. calls.
How you begged me to leave you alone.
Lying on the pavement.
Screaming on the cobblestone.
Crying in your arms.
My breath on your neck.
Your arms around me.
Your hand on my chest.
You telling me you love me.
Me wanting it to be different.
Me wanting it to be enough.
The night we drove for hours trying to get an answer.
Speeding down the highway.
The lump in my throat.
The way I pull away when you come in for a hug.
The solemn look you gave me when you told me to tell you if you were hurting me.
The silence that filled the air.
Because yes, of course.
And maybe I saw sparks when I should have seen rubble.
Maybe there was magic in the prologue and despair in the epilogue.
Maybe this was never a love story.
But well always have the parking lot.
The parking lot where I called after you when you threw your hands in the air and walked away.
The parking lot where you picked me up and spun me around and told me you loved me.
The parking lot where we have all our big moments.
Where weve sat for hours looking at the stars, talking about the vastness of the world.
The parking lot where we grew up.
Where we faced hard truths and dreamed big dreams.
Well always have that parking lot where my words were lodged in my throat.
Where I tried to scream for you, but all that came out was a hoarse little Come back.
You knew what the crack in my voice meantyou knew what I was trying to say.
You knew that I needed you back, but you knew that you had to let go.
Dared them to be our story.
The breath of your departure.
Youre wearing your last goodbye on your face and I am gripping my chest, looking out the window.
Looking away means putting a pause on a closing door.
Looking away means hanging onto the threads that you are letting go of.
Looking away means that this story isnt ours to tell.
This story was never ours to tell.
Maybe these were the signs all along.
And maybe I was too blind to see them.
