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Marks Made

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When I see him around from time to time it comes back like a shock wave. In parts of me it hurts. When I realize that I still have memorized every tender line of his body. When I feel the absence of his hand cradling my neck as if it had just been there. In parts of me I feel relief that even though it was not my doing, he was finally put back together into the person that I never got the chance to know. But above it all, I look at him, and feel a longing so strong it’s hard to bear. I don’t have a need for him to fall in love with me like I did for so long it became normal. I long for him to feel something when from time to time he sees me. If only a quick wonder of what could have been or a momentary regret of not being able to give himself away to me. I hate to admit it, but when I look in his eyes, beyond the ache of lost feelings and the acceptance of how things turned out, every bone in my body hopes that I have left some mark on his heart the way he has left an undeniable dent in mine.





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