Why I Will Never Leave You
Do you love me or just the thought of me? It’s so cliché but my mind has been going over this so many times I’ve stopped counting. Which one is it? And what’s the difference other than the ability to touch me?
If I’d pass away, you’d still talk to me before you go to sleep. You’d still tell me all about your day, your job, how there was this moment just after waking when you noticed the bed was colder. You’d probably ask me “and how are you?” and fall asleep shortly after, accustomed to the silence that follows.
On your way to work the radio would play the songs that remind you of me, because they all do. When you’d cross the bridge, images would start to pop up in your head. The two of us swimming naked in the river, our bodies tanned and sweaty. Strawberry ice cream in my hair, my fingers sweet against your lips. My long hair spread out in the grass, your dog peaceful at my feet, your hand pressed against my cheek. None of these are things we’ve necessarily ever done, but the pictures are so pretty in your head.
You don’t need me for that.
If I’m not here – what would you miss me for? Don’t miss being able to talk to me, because you still can. You’ve known me for so long, you already know what I’m going to say anyway. You wouldn’t miss me surprising you, because I never do. There’d be no void where my voice used to be. The silence after I’ve fallen asleep would be even more silent and with your eyes closed you can fantasize that I’m there next to you. You could make me as pretty as you like, finally getting rid of the mole on my right breast you find so distracting.
It would take some getting used to making breakfast just for one, but let’s be honest: that’s not something you’d actually miss, right? It’d give you time to go for a quick run, kick start your day, do something useful. Something you can tell me about later when you imagine me leaning against you, praising you for your hard work. When I’m no longer here, you could still have me and secretly add all the qualities you always wished I had.
When I’m gone, nothing would really change except maybe for the better. You’d cry, for the changes they’d ask you to make are something you’re not ready for. You’d cry for seeing yourself so miserable, for thinking you’d lost the love of your life. Don’t. Don’t cry, don’t change. Don’t tell a soul I’m gone. Keep me with you and make me better than I ever was, take all you never could from me. You wouldn’t have to miss a thing at all; what you loved in me could now never be taken from you. You’d never have to miss me.
But I’d sure miss to be touched.
A | A | A
It started with a right swipe, a little green heart. Tinder of course.
Though I acknowledge and appreciate the differences in human experiences, and while your heartbreak is (and always will be) uniquely and completely your own, I must urge you to consider that I have been where you are.
With his hat cocked back, body tilted away from his cane, and right forefinger pointing directly at his audience, Joseph Ducreux commands the attention of those viewing his self-portrait.
I was born in 1990; he was born in 1973. I’m 23; he just turned 40.