Now that I think about it, we really are
those kind of people they choose to write
those stories about. You know, those
sad stories full of love and pity.
Half past six on that Sunday evening,
you had one hand on the wheel, and another
clasped tightly around mine. I remember you
looked at me with your deep blue eyes. We
didn’t say a word, but I know what you were
thinking of. I know now. It’s okay. It’s okay.
You just pressed your skin against mine,
like you were covering me from all of the
worries of the world. I turned my cheek, but
you were still looking back at me. I felt like
I was drowning in them. But, it was calming.
I don’t think you know how much it hurts.
I miss being in our own little world, where
no one could tell us that we were delusional.
But, it just took it away from us. Just like that.
You shut your beautiful eyes, and pushed
out the world around us. You said we would
build a new world for ourselves. But, it has
already been 22 Sundays since that evening.
I can’t even look at our sunsets anymore.
You have ruined them for me. When I look up at
the sky, all I seem to see are pieces of you and me.
And, every time I look away, it just gets worse.
I’m so sorry, okay? I just miss you. I miss you.
I don’t even know why I can’t hold myself
together anymore. My head keeps on
spinning and it’s all too overwhelming for me.
It’s pretty pathetic. I always tell myself that
it’ll all go back. We’ll go back to how it was.
But then, the thought of you hit me hard.
And I realized that I am no longer yours.
I was never yours.
But up until now, I still find it impossible to
arrange the letters of the alphabet to show
much you mean to me. Maybe because it
hurts too much to think of what we had. Us.
What we had was the closest thing to magic.