heartbreak is misspelled. it is raw, it is stupid, and full of disappointment. it is knowing that tomorrow doesn’t matter. that tomorrow is full of promise and also the infinite sadness of knowing that there are no arms to hold you when the night turns to dawn. that cold sadness will haunt you until you find a place, a time, a person who will encapsulate your entirety with their arms, who’ll hold you like there is no tomorrow, like there is no deadline.

this is who you lost - full of contradictions, selfish in this self-loathing body, unable to let anyone in past skin-deep. but i opened the door for you this time. you let your self in, one step at a time, past the dusty furniture and old boxes. and now, in the darkness of your backyard, in the silence between airplanes flying overhead, we will deconstruct the brief tangle we made of our bodies, and of our selves. 

i’ll take this part of you with me - the smile you gave me when i was myself with you, the way your hands traced the curve of my back as i lay against you, the open heart you showed me when i showed you mine first. how i opened my body up to you, and let you dig your claws into my back while i finally let down my guard to another human being for the first time in years. the teasing, gentle at first, then more abrasive as we butted up against the reality of who we both are, the ceaselessness of our own stubborn natures.

i’ll remember this. i’ll remember standing waist deep with you in the water, holding our bodies to each other against the waves. your skin warm against mine. the reflection of the bright sun in your sunglasses, mirroring my face and i smiled like i hadn’t seen myself before. the sand pooling in our shoes as we biked home, digging at me like my doubts incarnate. i’ll remember the countless times you called me a keeper, and how i ended up walking away like no time at all had passed. 

i’ll remember too how i stumbled on my words, how i caused you pain because i can only go so slow. i am sorry for that. i am sorry for the way in which i was not, because i could not be. i didn’t cry when we said goodbye. i didn’t say much of anything. i’m crying now as i write this, because of how i realize this must be for you. i want to say that this won’t be the last time that this happens, but i can’t be sure. none of us can be. 

it hurt to hear how you call your self. it saddened me that you felt so poorly about who you are. those were words i couldn’t unhear, words that likely i needed to hear so that i could sever this connection, or tension, or whatever we were. labels aside, how did our lives overlap so little and yet so much? suddenly breaking the fourth wall always takes me aback, but i see with new eyes every time. and i stare in wonder at myself for being such an idiot all along. 

it should be spelled heart break. separate the words, let them mimic in shape how it feels to have someone enter into your life and then leave like they were never there. let that gap between the words show how the emptiness takes their shape. i can see where you lay, on your side of the bed still indented by your curves. i can see your handwriting on the note you left next to my bed. fingerprints, but where is the hand that left them?

holding you at night was alien and a rush. i’m still not sure where we went, but i’m glad we went there. i’ll remember how you looked last night, the last night we kissed. you looked hangdog tired, but happy. sunburnt, but alive. i’ll hold on to that, if nothing else. 

thanks for the time.