iMessage
G,
What matters right now is that you’re reading this. For a while, I thought maybe I could keep talking into the void of this little corner of the universe.
But eventually, the silence got too loud.
And you came too close.
The moon is waning tonight, and I can’t stop thinking about the last time. The very last time.
I pulled up. You opened the back door for me. I climbed into a space much bigger than we needed because I needed you too close.
You climbed in after me and drew the shades. You paid a ridiculous amount for that feature.
I don’t think either of us imagined this was what you’d use it for.
Us.
You kissed me so deeply I forgot to breathe. Held me so close I stopped knowing which heartbeat belonged to whom.
And the way you looked at me.
Like you had found something rare.
Your hands closed around my thighs like your body had finally gotten tired of lying for you.
Like in this one life, despite every reason you shouldn’t, you needed me.
Me.
And then you didn’t.
That is the part I still can’t make sense of.
You tucked away the nights you kissed me in cursive, folded my body into origami, said my name against my skin until it sounded less like a name and more like prayer.
I remember everything.
Sometimes I wonder if you do. Or if I’ve spent all this time being haunted by a house you moved out of without looking back.
I know I ****** up. I said things I wish I could take back. I just didn’t know it would cost me every version of you.
You left so quickly that I thought the feelings would follow. They didn’t.
Instead, the world keeps leaving pieces of you everywhere. Black trucks. Street lamps. Backseats. Certain songs. Certain hours. The moon.
And every now and then, something ordinary presses directly against the place where you used to be.
I think that’s what hurts most.
There was once a version of you who looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
And now I have to live in a world where that man still exists somewhere, just not for me.
The moon is beautiful tonight. I just wish it didn’t make me think of you.
When does it ever end?
– Me, Again.
Message Unsent