He came at the right time.
February 14, 2014
Just before my senior year of college, when everything felt in shambles. Nearly 4 years after I met you.
But even time cannot erase you completely, apparently.
Weeks before I found him, I had you, and we were perfect. Your skin milky white, your body chiseled like a marble renaissance statue. Your hair receding, but still your perfect mousy brown, thin, soft hair. Your breath and the sounds you made when you thought about what you were going to say to me next. Your warmth as we laid in bed for hours listening to Coldplay and Jack Johnson. Laughing. Cooking meals naked- like we had been doing this for years.
And we had. Off and on. But this time was different. This time, we seemed more ready than the other times. You were so beautiful and I felt so content in that little span of time we truly had together- the Winter of 2014. Cooped up in your apartment in Lawrence, Kansas.
For 3 weeks we played house and played the part.
But it wasn’t the right time for you, or maybe I wasn’t enough.
I will never know, because you never called me back. I never heard from you again. Like all the times before.
You’ll never know that the week before he saved me, I aborted our child.
And I was alone. And I was afraid. You were probably watching the Super Bowl, as I cowered in my room. In the dark. In the silence.
Then the clock struck midnight. And I laid my eyes on him. And he saved me.
But is it truly saving, if you still burn in my mind?
Time after time.