September 22, 2016

The Truth Is, I Don’t Want To Move On

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Jenavieve
Jenavieve

When you met me, I was a broken person. I did not know who I was, where I should be, or if my life even had a purpose. Then you came; like a stroke of good wind, this person who wanted to be mine. You made me love myself. You made me understand that I had a value- you were there when my family and friends couldn’t be. You suffered. You endured.

You were there- for all of it.

I can still remember the way you would pull the sheets up so that we were covered in darkness when the sun came early morning, glaring from the window. You would come close to caress my cheeks and kiss me until we both couldn’t breathe. You just made it all look so lovely.

Mind you, our first kiss wasn’t anything like the movies or the fairytale that followed- but it was beautiful in its very own way. I could feel your grip, tight on the curve of my back, pulling me close. Please don’t stop kissing me, I said. And you kissed me again before you told me, Never.

Between miles and cities, we managed it all. You managed it all. You made sure that I didn’t miss you, or feel alone in that big city made up of bigger dreams that would never make someone petite like me feel fit enough.

You were there when I felt alone, and you were there on Skype calls that went up till we both realized we were late for work.

I somehow never was capable to return you in full. I felt burdened in debit, but boy, you never let me feel it. You promised me a lifetime of those moments.

And then, it all fell apart. We just couldn’t hold it. You left, and you left behind a set of bones with no aspiration.

You had your own set of troubles, I reckon. I am a pushy person, and I can be extremely hard to deal with- but you dealt with me so patiently initially that I thought you could tolerate me for a lifetime.

You were the person I thought I could be with forever. The person I thought I could own a dog with. You were everything.

Unfortunately, you still are.

Behind all your anger and stubborn self, who told me he cannot be with me, I still find this little ray of hope that tells me that you will come back- when I know that you won’t.

And now, I don’t want to move on. Because you move on when you realize that the other person was at fault, or the other person did something so massive that it cannot be repaired. But the truth is, darling, that we can be repaired.

You don’t want to believe it? Good on you. I don’t want to stop believing in it, failure on me.

There will be days when you will look at something, or listen to our song, and think where did we screw up? And the only answer will be the face in the mirror. There will be days when I will fail, and wake up to be stronger. And the only hope will be the photo in the wallet.

But I can’t, I won’t let you go. TC mark

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