Iâve never stopped remembering your skin â the way its smell infiltrated my bed sheets, the way it shivered tracing over my own, the way I gathered it up between my fingers like you were a dying commodity. Like loving you was the scarcest resource left on this earth.
I never stopped comparing people to you.
Every first date or first kiss or first morning waking up beside somebody else â each of them failed to be you. Everyone lacked your lopsided smile and your low-pitched laugh and the way your body curled around mine like the safest place on earth.
Every arm cradling my body wasnât your arm. Every word whispered to me wasnât whispered your voice. It was the worldâs most illogical problem, with the worldâs most unconventional solution.
Everything that wasnât you was wrong. Everything that wasnât you wasnât worth it.
Iâm not willing to love anyone else.
Iâm not ready to re-tell my stories, not willing to map a new course. I still feel the heat rising from our bodies, at 4am, after the fights that kept us riling all night. I still remember you,
hearttoheart
breathtobreath
chesttochest,
all of our honesties and agonies aligned. I still remember the ways we tore each other open. The rawness,
the ugliness
the ache
that I donât want to find in anybody else.
The worst in you, that only I encountered. The worst in me, that only you know.
I donât really feel complete without you.
Iâve always felt a little dishonest, like parts of me stayed stuck inside of you.
I still feel as though our love was a house that we both lived in, for years and years and years. Until the carpets grew damaged from sunlight, our imprints left lodged inside the walls. I still feel a little out of place in each new residence, my body knowing, this is not home.
Knowing that nowhere has been a home without you. Knowing that our courses have been charted and our hearts have been vacated and I donât know what else to do, but to show back up at the doorstep of that house we used to live in.
To gather you up inside my fingers
like your skin is the worldâs scarcest resource.
To breathe in every inch of you.
Your ugly.
Your aching.
Your raw.
To come home, to stay home.
izzy806
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