You never left
Time is strange: a weekend can feel like a single day. And if one ever dragged on, joyless, it was only because I didn’t spend it with you.
No words could tell you how much paper I waste remembering you as I write; how you make me talk, to you and to myself, into the silence; how I can’t stop thinking about you for a single second of the day, even though no one sees me with you anymore.
Every sign the universe, or you indirectly, sends me lifts me out of this pothole I dug myself while I could still hold your hand and look you straight in those pale blue eyes. But how can I not mistake every little thing for a sign, if you never left? You stayed. In every object I see, in my house, in supermarkets, anywhere. In the note you gave me at the station: I haven’t thrown it away; it has your handwriting. You told me “I’m not coming back,” and still you’re here, in the sad act of healing, in the space I keep leaving on my narrow bed every night without meaning to, in my foolish mouth, which hasn’t shut up about you in weeks. And when I wake up, I remember that I used to open my eyes with you next to me, and that I have never been happier.
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You stayed in the windows of the tram I take every day, in the sentences of the books I read at night, in the noise of the city we both live in, in the clumsy, sweet dances of strangers in the clubs I go to, in every raindrop that lands on me. You didn’t leave. You never left. You stayed, because everything I do in life I do it with the two of us in my head.
I’m thankful that, even if you never come back, even if that wish stays buried in my chest, I could learn so much from you: that I need a clear conscience, because I have never been a bad person. I’ve made mistakes, not only with you, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been, and am not still, a good man. I need to convince myself of that, and I’m learning to. It’s okay to feel down. I can’t stay angry all the time, nor hold a grudge for long: I forgive, and now I know how to ask for forgiveness. I do things from the heart, without expecting anything back, because that’s how I’ve always been, and you made me remember it. I’m glad to be this way, and I’ve accepted who I’ve been; I’m glad and proud to have met you, to have experienced even the little you’ve taught me and which, I hope, you’ll continue to show me.
That’s why, my love, even now I still want to see you, talk to you while looking into your eyes, and hold your hand.
And don’t overthink about me, baby. I’m yours today, tomorrow, and forever: you are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last thing I think of before I go to sleep. And yes, I’d wash your hair if you didn’t have the motivation; yes, I’d stay with you when you’re sick even if it means I’ll get sick too; yes, I’d clean your room for you if you needed me to; yes, I’d hold you until you fall asleep; yes, I’d kiss all your insecurities; yes, I’d kiss your tears away; and yes, I’d sit and listen to what’s going on in your head for as long as you needed.
But baby, life is extraordinary, and all of these things I said here and forever said to you are gone. All the things we’ve done are gone and dead. Yes, time heals, but I’ll be forever broken. Anyways, I know I am not only meant for you, but for this world — this world that is so hard to understand, and that is drawn into your hands, this world that is etched upon your heart. And I know I’ll belong here, in a world where I’m needed.
