I miss you all at once.
Too busy to remember, I rarely have time to reminisce about what wasn’t.
But then I stop.
It hits me.
It hurts.
The memories shake me and I feel your hand in mine and the way that I would lay curled up in your blankets while the record would spin and you would softly sing along. You were the first guy to make me breakfast and bed and the way you took so much time to make sure it was perfect even thought it was early and we were both so sleepy made me smile like nothing before.
There wasn’t a single part of those two weeks that I didn’t love.
I don’t know why I let all of it go but then I hear a song or find a reminder of you and everything that happened, so quickly, that it comes back and I don’t know what to do anymore but feel like our time is up and that is all I get.
I play songs you taught me about at bars when I go out because you’re the only guy I want to be drinking with and the only one who would rather talk about philosophy and life and religion and where we do or dont’ fit than what I’m wearing or Jersey Shore or something mundane like every other person I seem to meet.
But it’s over.
It was over before I had a chance to really enjoy it and I feel like I lost something.
This bed isn’t like yours. It’s small and uncomfortable, the springs poking into my back as I toss and turn, restless, exhausted. I can’t fall into it like I did yours, the way I would come in after a night of adventures and just fall onto those blankets as you put on another record and shared with me your favorite songs. You taught me about Dylan and Zepplin and Floyd. I found my voice in those old records. The blues shook me the night my parents kicked me out of my house and I had nowhere to go. You took me out to that old dam and we listened to Frontier Ruckus and I felt such a spark when you told me to come home and just fall asleep next to you.
You bought me my first legal beer at 2 in the afternoon, just because you had a short break from work and I happened to run into you. You didn’t hate me when I made a fool of myself at my 21st brithday party and that weekend away from you in Austin was the longest of my life because I knew that those three days were three I’d never get back and were pushing me closer to being here in NYC without you. I know that sounds silly. I know that I sound insane. But tonight it hit me all at once that those few days were probably all I would ever get with you.
I don’t even know if I’ll see you again but I can’t shake this feeling that I need to see you again.
The thought of having no more late night trips to that dinky bar on Highway 80 or those stolen kisses that you were so great at surprising me with makes me crazy.
I’ve been feeling lately that maybe I am not meant to have a real, traditional relationship but, damnit, you were the closest I ever got to being happy this summer and I think there’s more to it than you just being there for me when everything with my lovelife fell apart.
I depended on you to pick up the pieces and you did more than that.
Now I’m still somewhat broken but I am so confused and so lost and all I know is that I want to tell you how much I miss you. I want you to know that I need you here, I need those nights wasted on cheap drinks and good music and the way that you made everything disappear when I was around you.
Our last night together you knew I was falling apart. I hated leaving that morning. Throughout the night I could feel your hand stroking my arm and soft kisses on my head but you kept telling me that we should just enjoy the simplicity of what we had and not linger and just hope something happens later on.
I turned away and cried softly into your pillow. Waking up that morning was the hardest thing I had to do all summer. I would have stayed there for you if I had a choice. You didn’t even give me the goodbye you expected, pulling that old, shitty car of yours over on the side of my road just a few yards away from my house to kiss me. We were so busy that we didn’t notice that truck pull up behind us, ending it all a bit short as we puttered along to my driveway for one last goodbye.
Three or four times we’ve talked, but I know you’re busy. I’m busy too.
But it hit me tonight that I didn’t know how much you meant to me until I had to leave you behind.
“You have 13 days to make an impression”, I told you the night we talked about Reggae Pie and coffee and coincidence at that coffeeshop when we met.
You made an impression.
I rarely reblog anything, but I have to make an exception for this post. It is absolutely beautiful. She poured her very heart and soul into this. Life is filled with bittersweet tales like this and to be honest I hope at least once in my life I can feel all of this. I want to be able to say to someone “I can’t help falling in love with you.”
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A post about a silly boy and the girl who can't get over him
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