It’s what I do best

I write so often that I forget to speak. I feel through pen and paper as my heart beats out of my un-healed chest. 

People tell you it’ll get better but who’s to really tell how long it takes to pull yourself together after a heart break. 

You meet new people and you find renewed hope in their smile. They charm you into believing they are there to fix the gaping hole that replaced a once whole heart.

See I met someone recently who was kind, he was pretty amazing but he’s the guy who grows on you. He is the guy that time gives to your heart. It’s not instantaneous, it’s not at first site. It’s sweet and eventually you know can be love. But it’s ordinary and I just don’t feel like fighting for ordinary.

Immediately after his absence I wandered back into those moments when I said forever and I meant it. The only problem is that I didn’t tell him forever. My forever looked much different. He was a tall distant and unattainable forever. . .and even though he is no longer within reach, I find myself drifting off to the moment where we stood in the dark skin to skin, feeling down to our bare bones. I remember the spark of electricity that rocked me to my core, so much so that I almost cried. As my past held me and just as his lips left mine he whispered in the dark, “it’s okay.” In those moments I allowed my soul to escape me as it embraced every part of him. I knew, this is it. That was the moment that people kill for, that is something most will never feel and I did once, and I’m afraid to admit I may never again. 

I was driving last night. It is one of my favorite things to do because I can think and clear my mind. Unfortunately there is no distance in this world that will allow me to outrun the love I have for this man. It is inescapable, it is powerful and more than anything I ever felt, it is painful. When you meet someone you have no idea what they will mean to you, or how they will impact your life. I in many ways wish I had never met him. It is only because of my present that I wish for such things. It hurts and I don’t know how to fix myself. I wish I could put back all of the little pieces that so willingly threw themselves open for him. My heart is lacking and its pulsating and pumping to the rhythm of an open wound.

I feel like I am living two lives. The one where everything is just peachy and I work and work and work towards my goals but then there is this other me, the me I am when I am sulking in the solace of a broken heart. There are moments when I sit with my back against the wall and I think of his scent and I kid myself into believing I can draw a perfect memory of him. I touch my lips and I frown because the only reciprocity I have is that of my cold fingertips against my anguished smile. I hold my hands against my chest and I realize there is nothing there but pieces of anatomy. My heart is working but it is very much missing the one who once made it jump out of my chest.

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