one more time
yearning for what will never be again / the pain of losing your first love
And I know I shouldn’t let myself fixate on the past like this, but if you came over one more time maybe we could fix what once was?
I know we couldn’t. It’s too late for us, I know, and yes, it’s not my fault, I know that too. I almost wish it was my fault, that way I could fix it. I would do anything for you and that’s exactly why I can’t have you. Why I couldn’t shouldn’t let myself, even if you still wanted me.
I know you don’t want me.
But if we had one more night, maybe you could. I’d greet you at the door and slip my hand into yours. Then I’d hold you until my arms got numb. I’d lead you upstairs and shut the door behind us, showing you what my room looks like now—the empty white walls, the sky-blue ceiling, the minimalism and shelves of books meticulously organized by genre and publication date. I know you’d like it. After that, you’d sit and pet my purring cat while I searched in the depths of my backpack for my computer. We’d be about to pick a movie but I’d pause when I saw you sitting there, sunlight lighting up the blue of your eyes, your smile. Braces glinting, teasing me, and I’d leave the laptop on my unmade bed, sit on your lap on that new-old leather chair.
Our mouths would meet, desperate, hungry. Would you taste any different? Minty, I’d imagine. You’d be nervous, gently slide your hand to the hem of my shirt, pulling me closer. I’d come up for air, my heart beating wildly, and you’d ask if I was alright. I would nod silently and collapse against you, my head on your odd blank t-shirt and your heart beating quick again beneath my ear. Your hand gently on the back of my neck, your lips pressed soft against my hair.
What would you think of my green hair? Would my new voice turn you on? More likely, it would be my joy at the deeper resonance that would make you melt, snuggle against me. You’d trace your fingers over mine, pulling off my ring to play with it—maybe I’d take your fingers to my mouth. I hope I’d just savor the moment, the safety I felt in your arms.
That soft, gentle pricking at the back of my head, a pain I’ve almost forgotten now. It’s the ache of a body working too hard to keep itself alive, pumping blood twice as fast to make up for a missing piece of its heart.
I say I want to date again, that I’ve healed, I’m okay now, but I wonder if I’ve just gotten used to feeling unwhole. Won’t something always be missing? In ten years, twenty—I’ll find new lovers, fall hard and get hurt, but I don’t know how I’ll ever feel whole again. Each love, just another piece of my heart I’ll never get back. How will I have any heart left when it’s time for me to grow old with someone?
If I had one more night with you, my heart might be whole again, even just for an hour or two. If I had one more night with you, we could laugh and dance to Billy Joel, kiss and fuck and hold each other until our arms grew heavy with love. I would study the intricacies of your face inches from mine, let your mouth trace every pore of my skin. We would lie together, almost asleep, two bodies breathing in tandem. If I had one more night with you, I could feel safe for a little while.
Was that November afternoon the last time my heart will ever be whole?
inspired by this post from bellesblogs! sadder than the original post though lol
