the one left behind.

I thought and supposed wrongly, that because I had lost someone before, losing another person again should be easy. It should be a breeze.
It was a hellishly tough new kind of despair instead.
At first I would dream, and I would forget all the instances where I felt so lonely while listening to him talk and looking at his perfect face. Yes, his love was one of a kind. He got me the best kinds of weed. He drove out in the hot sun and got sick just because he was kind enough to send me to the airport. If I had known that would be the last time I saw him – I would have, umm.. maybe kissed his hands? No, I would have said ‘Thank you’. And sniff his hair out one last time.
He called me ‘Pretty’. He did say he loved me, up to a point (it must be my obsession with precision and measurement that made me fall just for that! Or my fascination with pragmatism)
I would dream and miss him terribly, he would creep up slowly into my consciousness and I can feel the weight of his absence in my mind. There was no more words to process, no more shared thoughts to marvel at. He had shared so much within such a short period of time. And I had fallen so hard within such a short period of time. It was a doomed acceleration towards the center of mush and gush.
Perhaps the pain now comes from knowing that he was not safe around me. My sharp edges tore into his fragile shell. It disturbed the equilibrium he had worked for his whole life to reach.
I would be selfish, if I just turn up one day at his place unannounced. If I demand that he dismiss me in person. If I insist on a proper good bye, one last kiss. Any surprise would rattle him, and it is not his fault at all. My only balm for this sorrow is he is better off without me. Isn’t that the whole essence of love? to sacrifice your feelings for the comfort of the one you love?
For that, then, this. I cannot now casually hurl myself into another person, oh do you have any idea how torturous and arduous it is to get to know someone? a whole life story. a complete set of foreign neurosis. Different mouth to kiss, different arms to get used to. Different words to process, different mind to figure out.
He was my sun. He was the center of my universe. You know what happens to interstellar bodies that are flung so far away from the sun? They die a slow and almost certain, cold death.


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