There is a sense of resentment and latent hate in my head today and I don't like it one bit.
I'm at the Orange Festival in Dambuk, Joseph Arthur is on stage and we're up next. "Please play my song, please play my song" I mutter to myself. He does.
I run to the front from our makeshift greenroom. It's raining as he plays our song. It's such a beautiful, beautiful tragedy.
"Don't know why I'm still afraid, if you weren't real I would make you up..."
I go back to the summers we spent in my room, making love. We were so fucking great together. You were the yin to my yang. Maybe if I'd loved you a little bit more, you would have stayed. But I was so young and so caught up in my own tragedies back then. I am sorry for not reaching out to you more. I'm really really sorry. I guess this will be my cross to bear till the day I die. I beat myself up every other day thinking I could have saved you, if only I hadn't been so indifferent to your suffering. I should have saved you, I could have saved you. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
The idea of the existence of parallel universes brings me a strange sense of comfort. Maybe I am with you, we're together, in one of them. Maybe we're a super generic, boringly normal couple somewhere. Who knows. But I like to think that there is a possibility. It gives me the strength to carry on with my shit-show of a life. I miss you man, I miss you so much sometimes. All I want is for you to hold me and never let go.
I have been in love many times since. It's been the most wonderful thing. But I cannot say that I love you any less today because I am still so hopelessly in love with you. There has always been a special place for you in my heart and in my head.
What do I do? What do I do?
Some days are great, I keep you in my heart and go about my life. But some days are so terrible. I have trouble getting out of bed, the same bed on which we'd make love and you'd hold me as I slept. I miss us. I miss how happy you'd make me. I miss everything about you.
Your voice.
Your touch.
Your kisses.
Your taste.
Your smell.
Your everything.
Lately, I've been forcing myself to break down all my walls, lower my guard and this is the most vulnerable I have been in years. It's a strangely masochistic thing to do because the cynic in me knows very well how badly it could end. I don't care though. Bring it on, universe. Hurt me, break me down again and again and again. I've learnt to enjoy this pain.
I have been broken so many times before that I don't feel scared anymore.
You've filled me with endless love and endless strength. Death may have forced us apart but that's alright. It's only a matter of time before we're together again.
