27th October, for love.

There is no possible other word that could ever clasp this day in it’s emaciated hold.
Love.
I can’t seem to share my soul with anyone else, you took it away that October 27th seven years ago, all of it.
I am thinking of you. I am thinking of you in a land far, far away from anything I have ever called home. Sitting in a little room with an important man im front of me, who was telling me things I should have been paying heed to, and all I could think of was you.
Your birthday that first year. I let you down a lot that year, didn’t I? I was learning. I was learning to fall in love and to be in love. You were teaching me.
I can’t help think of all the times I could have done better by you. I won’t make the same mistakes again, I tell myself, but what’s the use when I have lost the only person with whom I would want to have known better?
I don’t know how to love again. I just don’t.
Have I fallen in love after you? Yeah, I have.
But it wasn’t the same. I didn’t break the way I broke for you, and you know what I say about love, your heart breaks the day you fall in love and only continues to break to make space for it.
I may have cracked, but never did I crumble and cave in the way I did for you, for my love for you.
How do I still remember your seventeen year old tan, the line your jaw drew itself into when you would smile, your dimples, your set of perfect teeth, your perfectly luscious lips, your overgrown rough and unkempt hair, your thin grey teeshirt that hung loose at the V of the neck, showing just a bit of your black roseary thread?
How do I miss the touch of your hands when I don’t even remember what that felt like? How do I crave to whiff a bit of your scent every now and again when I am not even certain if I will recognize it anymore? How can I still dream that every unknown number that blinks on my phone may just be yours when you haven’t so much as asked me how I am doing in two years?
If you love them, let them go, if it is meant to be they will come back to you. I let you go.
I used to think you would come back to me someday.
I don’t have that silly notion I used to any longer.
So why does it still feel like a part of me was just ripped out and crushed just now everytime I think of you, of us?
I am grateful you happened to me, there is so much I am today that is because of you. I just can’t seem to shake of the feeling that there is such massive part of me that cannot move with me anymore. No more ghosts of love long lost. No more dreams of someday having your one true love stopping dead in his tracks and telling you that it had always been you, all along.
I know my road must go on, and I must leave you at that last lampost, but it always seems so imperative to just see you one last time under the light. And one last time. And one last time.
Seven years later.

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