I’ve been ok, I have been surviving. Sad, yes. Finding the whole thing senseless, yes. Missing this man who I still believe in my gut I am to grow old with and trying to give him space. Then, like he snuck into my room over night, I realized that I had left our glasses on the nightstand. I missed them for days, just sitting there like little memorials, that is how busy I have tried to stay.
I sighed and picked them up. Finding myself a bit overwhelmed with emotion, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared off, missing his smell, missing his face, the feel of his body hair, arms, chest, head, how tactiley different each is under my fingers. I cried at the realization that I will probably never touch him again. Then, in my hand, I looked at the glass and saw his lip print. Before washing it, I took one photo and placed it to my lips in a sad moment of trying to connect. He’s not there though, it’s just a glass. My pillow didn’t smell like him after he left and my skin, my shoulder, only retained his scent for an hour after we last made love, and god how I hate that phrase, but I realized that it had changed that night. That what started out as fucking took a decidedly different turn shortly after it began. For those last few hours we were together, sharing space, he actually took down the walls.
Jesus Christ, I miss him.