Wednesday, September 23, 2009

one last night

The beach behind her is one I’m familiar with, and my heart skips a thousand beats. My own engine begins to rev, my bones breaking open. I’m suddenly sobbing in front of this computer screen where her smile is so wide and bright that I’m not sure what I long for more the beach or her. I thought I was over this, but I suppose I reopened the wound myself. It probably is that she seems so unaffected by our departure from one another’s lives that brings this rush of stabbing pain in my heart. I want so desperately to be over it, to forget this longing I feel for her. That distinct pining that waves between me like the ocean she just left behind. Those moments of happiness were just dreams, weren’t they? My body in bright wool colors pressed against her, shoving her along a wall with my lips at the forefront - leaning over to kiss her before we parted. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. What a fool I feel like for falling for this woman who will never desire me as I have desired her. The pain she has caused has already been so deep, and yet I can’t seem to entirely cut the cord. I am addicted to the moments of awareness, even our last encounter brought strange feelings of loss for each of us. I haven’t cried over her many times, maybe because I understood early on this would hurt me and so I kept myself together tightly by yarn and needles. I crawl back into bed, with my knees to my chest and sob some more for what I’ve lost, for what never was and for never being able to share my feelings for her - with her. One day I may consider the idea of writing it all down for her eyes to see, but only when I know I am strong enough that any response would not drive a stealthy stake into my already broken heart.

It would be better if I thought that she did not care for me at all, that I never crossed her mind. It is worse when you know for sure that you do encounter this persons mind even as a memory at some point even if briefly. Oddly enough on a day where I would stumble across my undead feelings for her she would text message me then try to engage in a conversation, even if we were both short and stand offish in our responses it was something that shook me. If only she understood all the pain she had caused me. Jae. Jae. Jae. I used to say her name with an edge of beauty, temptation now whenever I utter it - it feels so brittle against my tongue, my lips pouring out with a shade of ugliness.

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