• All that Time. Lost.

    by  • July 18, 2011 • * Safe for Work *, Breaking Up • 0 Comments


    I’m sorry.

    And I can only say that, because I really am.

    It was four years long, our love. Or so I thought. I spent four years thinking of you, and that toothy grin that you would only show when you felt comfortable enough to laugh, or smile. I spent four years alone in my room, trying to remember every line in the iris of your beautiful brown eyes. Four years. I just broke it off, for good. I am hoping. And when I showed you that movie of us, our story, in the movie theater.. I was hoping you would see what I saw. Our potential. But. I think I scared you. Even now, looking back. I blame it on myself. It was too much. We were young, and everything was perfect, so young but so ready to call up the big world we lived in and shout that we had found each other. Soulmates, lost, but now found.

    During the fourth year, I could feel you straying. You were doing drugs and drinking, anything to escape the life you thought you had, I guess anything to escape me. You said you loved me. I can here you say it now, your voice giving me still the faintest goosebumps defining my spine and raising every hair on my neck. I love you. You’d tell me. And I felt happy. Then, I was. I was happy then.

    I tried to make you choose. It was me or it was the lifestyle you were falling towards. Drugs, alcohol, running no where fast just to be somewhere. You said you chose me. I loved you for that. It was New Years Eve and you held my hand as we raced through every hotel in the city, marveling at their decorations and exclaiming how one day we would live like that. Fanciful lives, and if not, we would settle for quaint. You whispered to me that you had wanted this your life. I could feel my heart dropping to my stomach as I excitedly said that I did too.

    It was the summer heat, and I was wondering what would happen as big decisions were coming our way when I found out you hadn’t stopped. I cried for a week before I asked. You said maybe. I cried for a month every night after that. But I still dreamed about you. Your arms, and how they held me the night that we first tried anything serious at all. I never thought you would give up me for a lifestyle.

    It was the middle of June when I knew I had to do something, anything. To keep from losing you. You were everything to me, you were a night out on the town, you were the soft breeze in my blonde hair reminding me that I needed to call you just to say I loved you.

    You grew distant and cynical. And in the process as did I, and you told me you wouldn’t change for anyone. You told your friends to keep it a secret that you still smoked and drank because you appreciated being able to have the freedom of individuality and being able to have me too. I told you why I didn’t like it, and I cried and you held me, but not the same as before. I tried explaining my past, and the abuse I went through and how drugs change a person.

    Little did I know I was saying this all to a changed man.

    I broke it off after the night that you’d told me you have changed, and you would never touch it again if it meant you could keep me. That night was amazing. I never thought a kiss like that would remain on my lips for so long. But the next day you told me you had changed your mind.

    So I left.
    And I guess I’m not sorry. You didn’t appreciate me enough to leave one thing behind. We could have been great. I will think about you from time to time. But I’ll never regret my decision.


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