I sit here once again in this bed that we sat together on, talked on, cried on, laughed endlessly, and watched movies. My heart is overwhelmed.
To all my other hard times I could find such a deep comfort in such a simple, strong hug. This, however, is past the point of any comfort, and my favorite arms are far away now.
It's the death of a relationship with a cut that slowly, agonizingly bleeds out until the blood is gone and it finally stops hurting. All that's left is an exhausted heart.
I want my favorite strong arms around me, and I want to lay next to him while he smells my hair, and I can feel his breath behind my ears. I want to feel kisses all over my face, and to know that everything is going to be okay when he hugs me so tight; his chin resting on my head and his beard prickling into my skin.
I stared at him every night this week. I took in every length of every hair on his beard. I studied his eyes, and the pores in his face. I stroked his lips with my fingertips hoping that all of these things might get burned into my brain, into my heart, into my eyes, so that when he leaves I will still hold him close to me when I need him most. But he is not here. He is far away from here. And I have never known such a hard feeling to feel. Such a grief. Such a sad end of something so beautiful to my heart.
I want to know it again. I long to feel that love close again. I know I cannot feel it with him right now, but I don't want to feel it with anyone else right now.
I can't be here. In this room. In this house. In this town. My final days with him are everywhere. He is in everything. His footprints are in the snow outside. His sheets still shape the bed. He is in my thoughts when the train goes by, and when I put on my jacket to go out into the cold. He is in all my tears. And he's deep in my heart.
Two days has the feel of two weeks. My heart hurts.
To sever a love is not natural to the human heart. Does it ever heal?
