Sunday, April 24

...

I remember the day I had arrived. It was with you. Of all the people I have ever known, I arrived in front of you. My nerves were bundled in my fingertips, spilling over to your arms as I crawled into your sheets. You lent me your socks because my feet were cold. I curled my toes in the soft wool. You held me in your arms like I was a dying child with one last hard breath to take. I might never be so naked in my life--- as though in that moment, I had peeled off every layer of my skin and you could see me.

It was four months before your smell faded from the sweater. I'd wear it everywhere, all the time, always---even in the summer--- because it felt like I was carrying you with me. It felt like you would be back and I was just keeping it warm for you, like we'd pick up at sacred kisses and hand holding, picnics and poetry.

We all make our choices and yours were decided long before you had met me. I'm not bitter for them. But nights like these, when I'm tired enough and worn enough, I wonder how our lives would have been different if you had chosen to stay.


-Cheers.

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