Loving you was a place.
It was a house that we boarded up the windows to, refusing to let daylight filter in and infringe on the intoxicating paradise we had gotten lost inside. It was the intimacy soaked into the bedsheets and seeping out under the doorways and captured in between the spaces that our bodies carved out through loving each other. It was a labyrinth inside which everything was stagnated and saturated with the scent of you, the sight of you, the feel of your skin against mine, it was a whole world we’d created and it was one I didn’t want to escape.
Loving you was an adventure.
It was my heart beating straight out of my body, it was the universe bursting through your skin. Loving you was wine-drunk evenings and sun-soaked mornings beckoning us to go further, to push harder, to test the limits of all we’d ever known. Loving you was mountain peaks and sprawling valleys. It was lifetimes worth of sweet anticipation finally breaking through the core of your existence, it was all we only ever hoped to dream for, it was impossibilities come true. Loving you was the whole world on fire and we were burning. It was the chaos of all in our wake.
Loving you was coming home.
It was the whole world submerged underwater; it was peacefulness and stillness, it was purity and calm. Loving you was the impossible silence that brimmed louder than any noise I’d heard. It was the simple sensation of enough-ness with my heart beating quietly with yours, it was the whole world spinning wildly around us while we remained whole and untouched. Loving you was the only home I’d known, it was the first roof that I felt safe underneath.
Loving you was chaos and destruction.
It was broken glasses littering the hallways and vulnerability caking my skin. Loving you was the fear of you leaving like a rampant, infectious disease that I couldn’t seem to pull from my system. It was the merging of two minds in a way that made it impossible to extrapolate my own, it was forgetting where your nerves and tendons ended and where my own began. Loving you was a madness that I couldn’t get rid of. It was a chaos that encumbered my mind.
Loving you was the strongest, most incurable hit of a drug I couldn’t wean myself off of.
It was early mornings wrapped up inside of you and evenings spent trying to break free. It was the push and pull of the world that existed outside of our destruction and the home I’d built inside your arms. It was an addiction that I couldn’t cut clean from. It was an obsession that I couldn’t quite quit.
Loving you was purity and passion.
It was chaos and calamity and calm. It was the pull of an incurable compulsion. It was the safety of a level-headed choice. Loving you was rawness and intensity. It was fire and brimstone and ice. It was the coldest freeze of winter. It was the gentle thaw of spring.
Loving you was all of the pain of being tossed from of Eden. It was the wonder of being welcomed back in.
Loving you was a drug. And it’s one I cannot pick back up.
It feels too good to be clean. It feels too good to be sober.
It feels too good to be clear-headed and even-minded and moving forward evenly, alone. It feels to good to be no longer hooked on you.
It feels too good to have fallen out of love.