I Can’t Stop Writing About You, Even Though I Want Too
It sounds so simple; just stop. Instead of writing things about you, I could be writing anything else. Except I can’t. If it was really all that simple I would have stopped thinking about you long ago. And to be completely honest, most of the time I don’t think about you.
Then I write a piece about love or heartbreak or finding unexpected love at an unexpected time and there you are. You’re those words for me still, even though I don’t even mean for you to be there at all. You’re an unwelcomed guest on the page but you’re there no matter what I do.
I get transported instantly back to that tiny apartment I wish I could forget. When someone says the word love, I see us dancing in our kitchen and laughing while you twirl me until I can’t see. That’s what loving you was like. It was so intense and so much that I couldn’t see the truth. I can see it now though as the pain pours onto the page when I write about you.
I still feel those kisses you’d place on both my cheeks, then my forehead till finally, you find my lips. Our lips seemed to always want to stay connected and it wasn’t something I complained about. So when I write about kisses that you feel in the pit of your very being, I’m writing about you.
I remember when I went on vacation that one time and you called me every day to tell me you missed me. You told me there was an empty space in the bed and you needed me back because you were sleeping terribly without me. You needed to hear my breathing in order to be lulled to sleep. I told you I needed that too. When I write about missing the weight on the other side of the bed, it’s you my bed is missing.
The day you left is something that’s constantly on replay in my head. It starts with such panic and gasping for air, not knowing what was happening. How could this be happening when we were happy just three months earlier? Like that scary kind of happy. The one that I never knew I could be. But it was done in your eyes. You found something else that was better than anything I could give you. So, when I write about heartbreak, you’re the fracture that’s been the hardest to piece back together.
I want to stop writing about you but I can’t. I want too so bad and move on but for some reason, everything I type won’t let me. These pieces are constant reminders that you were someone in my life that was so important, that healing might not be an option. Maybe it’s time and distance. Maybe it’s just a permanent scar.
I just wish my writing could spell out for me how you moved on so quickly and then teach me how to move on too.
