I Can’t Stop Writing About You, Even Though I Want Too

Photo by Sorin Sîrbu on Unsplash

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.