One year ago I could tell that something was wrong, but I couldn't put words to it. I could feel it but I couldn't see it. I could hear it when I closed my eyes, but it'd be gone by the time I'd reopened them. I couldn't read it in the words, I could only hear them speak to me once I fell asleep. Lurking. Proposing. Imposing. Tempting. Twisting. Taking and taking and taking. Draining.
As time went by, it became harder to pretend that all was OK. It wasn't. It never had been. And never would be. The shift began and I could no longer discern if things were really starting to fall apart, or now I had to admit that they had been all along. My thick skin could no longer protect me. It was now just as much a part of the problem.
I kissed him in the rain that night. Just like it was old times. I should have known RIGHT THEN that this was it.
I saw him again last night after so many sleepless nights that I've lost count. I saw him. And I haven't seen his face so close to mine in so long. And there he was. I'm hoping it was the first of many. Contrast that with today and where I really was and where he really was and the feeling just wasn't the same. My standing, looking down at his grave is not supposed to be how this ended. Love is supposed to transcend. It's supposed to be hard and worth fighting for and then be able to enjoy it. Not lose it.
Live or die
Hero or coward
Fight or give in?