One day i will talk about him and it won’t hurt. One day my heart wont start running as fast as it can to get away from me when I hear his name. My heart will no longer be crumbled into his fist, will no longer be squeezed tighter and tighter the more details I remember of him.
He loved to write and the first time he read me his poetry I smiled because I thought he was quoting R M Drake to try and impress me. I later saw on an old instagram post that it was truly his words.
He loved to adventure and the first time we adventured together was to a couple quarries in south knox, our friends jumping off cliffs while we floated below, our bodies pink from the roaring sun.
He loved to groove and the first time he showed me his favorite band he rocked around in the driver’s seat and gave me the widest smile I’d ever seen, his eyes alive with the music and my heart floating into another realm.
He loved to nap and the first time I saw him doze off was during my sisters party the night we met. But that didn’t stop him from bolting to consciousness when he heard his friend was hit.
He loved his car, but that didn’t stop him from letting his friends paint words on the windows when they were drunk.
He was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, humble, bold, and so so fun. He was lighthearted yet as deep as the ocean. He loved space and tapestries and mystery and his roommates’ dog and sushi and the brokenness of humanity. He loved Brakence and kissing and The Midnight Gospel and appreciated a good bed set up. He loved his mother that broke his heart, his dad that shattered his sense of identity, his sister that never talked to him. He loved his ex girlfriend and his friends and the idea of starting fresh every single day. He was both in love with and in hate with life and the balance overtook him so heavily he had to sleep it off all of the time, constantly in need of naps. He wanted to see joy in other peoples eyes. He wanted people to know he cared for them. He wanted to believe that someone cared for him, wanted someone to chase him when he left, wanted someone to love deeply but entirely too terrified to be loved.
He loved alcohol and spent most of his time tipsy at the very least.
He loved the romance of leaving.
So that’s what he did.
He left me.
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United States • 22 years old