Beautiful, we tried.
We poured our tarnished souls into this. We lived beyond the rules and we pushed boundaries I didn’t know existed. I felt the blood in my veins for the first time and I found a reason to wake in the morning. I knew when I looked at you that this was love. I know when I look at your photos that it still is. I know because it’s been a long time since I’ve held you the way I used to, but you stay with me. I still feel you and you’re half way around the world.
You told me I didn’t feel. You told me I was soulless for letting you go; incapable of compassion, empathy. Yet, when you were scared and alone across the ocean I woke feeling you. Despite my best efforts not to, I connected with you. I asked you simply to tell me things were ok.
I’ve not been ok since discovering they’re not. And how did I know?
I can’t pick up the phone. I can’t skype. I can’t text. I can’t connect with you right now. It’s physically impossible and it’s killing me. I’ve not cried this hard in years and I can’t help but think that the breakup has finally caught up to me.
I’ve spent months drunk. I’ve spent months immersed in my work. I’ve spent months with others, with another. And still. Still. Every morning. Every night. I’m terrified that I’ve lost true love.
Every fucking moment, gorgeous, it’s always you.