You can call me pathetic or weak. You can call me whatever the hell you want, and say that I’m not strong enough or that I’m not well. But at least I’ve felt love. At least I’ve truly loved.
And you know what? Not many people can say that at 24.
I’ve felt the kind of love that people die before ever experiencing it. I’ve felt the kind of love that everyone deserves, no matter their race or gender or salary number. The kind that doesn’t leave your body or your heart, no matter how much you want it to go. Because it was that strong, and it had that much of an impact on you.
So you can call me weak for saying the truth. For saying something that a lot of people would feel ashamed of saying aloud. And for saying something that makes me seem like a hopelessly, lonely and afraid little girl. But I know the truth.
And the truth is that, no one has made me feel like you used to do. It’s been three years, and I’ve met people in college and on the street and on airplanes, yet, my heart has never felt like that.
It’s never felt that whole, like it did when I was in your presence.
Maybe I’m a lost cause. Maybe it’ll never happen to me again, because that kind of love is a once in forever type of deal. Maybe I’ll always feel this void in my body when I think about you for too long. Or when I picture you in my head, for too long. Or if I picture how your voice sounds now. Maybe I’ll always feel like this, no matter how many years pass me by.
Maybe I’ll never meet someone who makes me feel like you did. Who will make me feel that good. That beautiful. That cared for. That fucking amazing.
And I’m happy I’ve felt it. I’m happy you were a part of my life for that long. I’m happy you loved me like you did. I’m happy that at one point in time, I felt so astonishingly bright and shiny.
I’m happy my heart got to feel what it felt like to be cradled and held in your arms. I’m happy my body got to feel what it felt like to be wrapped up in your sheets and naked body. And I’m happy my mind got to feel so nourished and watered by your entire soul.
But if I’m being completely honest here, I’m also terrified. Terrified that my heart won’t feel like that again. Terrified that my body won’t be covered in a beautiful, beautiful canvas like yours. Terrified that my mind will never be showered, like it was when you were mine.
What if I never find another you?
What happens then?
What happens if I never find you?