I am not good with words. I struggle to put together pieces of words into a string of sentences in hopes that you’ll understand the message I’m trying to send from across the table; room; world.
I’m not good at explaining just how much I love something; someone; you. I sound -appear – incoherent; the magnitude of my love, unfathomable, incomprehensible. I love sunsets and the way it would change the blue sky into bright but soft hues of love.
I love how the waves would crash onto the shore, and with each pull, remind me so deeply of how I’ll never want to see the day where I’ll have to part from your embrace.
With every sunset and every crash of the wave on shorelines across the world, still, no amount of words will be sufficient enough to perfectly mold the shape of my beating heart and the palpitations it brings about whenever I hear your very voice calling my name.
But since you left, I’ve been good, at hiding tears; screams; a broken heart. All of the words I didn’t have before came pouring between muffled sobs on my pillow at the corner of the bed, as drops of water engulf my being at the stroke of midnight.
I’d scream your name in my sleep, calling on you to come home, then, pretend I’m not sick to my stomach from constantly thinking of you when I’m awake. I’ll walk down the alleyways where our hands have intertwined, my strides long and head bowed, in prayer that the memory of your skin on mine finds itself lost in the maze of my consciousness.
I promise, I’m trying to be better – for me; for me; for you. It’s been almost two years, and you’ve met someone new. She’s pretty, you’re happy, and I know I should be too.
But how could I be? The world I knew that was once in colour is now blue, and I’m still standing here from across the table; room; world – waiting for you.