Untitled #3

Crawling back into the tangled mesh of  alcohol and cologne that he was, I traced my hands along the small of his back and tried to speak to his demons and they told me that he thought about me when he smoked his last cigarette for the day, and the moths in my stomach suddenly turned into butterflies. Tiny butterflies trying to escape my ashen body, slowly and slowly they crept up my esophagus and came out. I felt like the only star in the night sky was trying to talk to me while you kissed my neck which actually felt like a guillotine descending on my damp and pallid skin.

It cut through my soul as shafts of dim moonlight pierced the smoke from our cigarettes. his piercing gaze felt like a laser beam cutting through my existence and I’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, unguarded, almost as if I was waiting for his demons to engulf me. I was a cluster of memories, a collection of all the words he said to me, a heap of all the feelings he made me feel, an accumulation of all the days I’ve spent with him.

I lost myself in him and looked for myself in poetry, but in vain, I had lost myself anyway.

How is it possible for someone to be so in love with someone that it almost felt like he ran through my veins, as in, he kissed every cell of my body, as in, he caressed each organ with his veiny hands, as in, he touched my insides and left fingerprints that seemed to last forever.
He was a part of me, perhaps, or I was a tiny part of his magnificent existence. A collection of atoms had never been so special to me, and perhaps, never would.
He was special.

However, that eventful night as the dawn descended upon us, he left. left his half drunk beer bottle and a half-smoked cigarette and a half-loved beloved.
It seemed as if I could hear all the goodbyes that had ever been said to be echo in my mind all at once. As if all that I ever lived for, has been snatched away and the ocean has knocked me down and I’d never be able to get up. As if, my insides were ripped out, stomped over and left to decay. As if I was no longer the cluster of memories, collection of words or the heap of feelings that i used to be.

 

And, that’s how I was going to be.
Perceptually.

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