I don't know why I did it.
I guess I was lonely. And after finding some of his notes in the box under my bed, perhaps I...tricked myself. The once sweet eye words stirring things inside me long since laid to rest. It sent me where I shouldn't have gone.
I sent him a message. It was supposed to be a simple few words- 'Hi. Can we talk?'
But then, everything came gushing out. I couldn't help it. I was hurting on the inside, and it's just...complicated. I had forbidden myself to say his name, mentally and physically. So the feeling of typing it out, and whispering it under my breath, felt nothing short of mischievous, delicious. It ripped the seams of me, and it all just...rained.
He used to be a place of comfort for me. I dated him for two years. I know him- the way his hair is thick and soft, a light copper brown, and it smells like axe. I know his green eyes that used to sparkle when he looked at me. I know those slightly crooked, but perfect teeth. I know his smiles- happy, polite, gentle, and sexy. Hell, the auto correct on my phone is still filled with the names I called him, like tiger,or angel.
I had him memorized.
And I knew how he liked me, too.
He loved my brown eyes. And my hourglass figure. He loved it when my hair was messy, and disheveled. I'd spend two hours shamelessly primping for a date, and then everything was ruined, after he'd run his hands through my hair thickly and kiss off all my makeup. It pissed me off in a good way. It was cute, though, how he'd then stand back, and murmur, "Wow." Even as I'm writing this, I'm grappling for words and memories long since blocked from thought. Everything I know- knew- is fast diminishing. Fading into an obscure mist of, 'I think...' and 'I can't quite remember...'. Everything comes back in flashes. Bright, white hot sparks of memory that either cauterize the wound, to help stop the bleeding...or they simply hit you, knocking you breathless. You never know how good that day, that kiss, that moment was, until you're staring blankly at an old love note, wondering:
How was I ever so happy?
Trying desperately to call to mind the events, the intricacies of something you once thought you knew, but now...it's nothing but a ratty piece of paper with some smeared pencil scribbling on it. Worse, it represents something that used to be your world, now painfully empty. Six months later, I'm supposedly healed. But his words today, hurt me more now than the others did when I left him.
"If you're trying to get back together, I'm sorry. The answer is no. I'm not trying to be an ass. It's just not going to work. I guess the love just left."
Even though I wasn't going to date him again, this news shocked me. Maybe it's the rejector becoming the rejected. I knew soon after we broke up, that if I couldn't handle being without him, he'd take me back in an instant. It helped me stay away, the knowledge that a cure for my necessary heartbreak was there if I needed it. In this kinky, odd way, he helped me heal.
The pain was intense, because I do know I really loved him, but I also knew it was for my own good. He had begged for me to take him back. Even months after it was over.
I wonder when that changed.
And I know, deep down, it's not truly him I miss. It's Us. I miss his gentle ways and his kisses, his laughter and his comfort. I miss the beautiful history we share. But the fact that it's not him my heart's after, well... that didn't stop me from crying.
So now, hair matted around me, hot tears running down my face, my voice betrays me, and a confession slips out.
"He used to call me his."
And with that one word, 'used', I know.
Six months after we ended, we are finally over.