Unforeseen

It came out of nowhere, a warmth that bled onto my skin as I became enwrapped within its glory. It came from deep within, my head heaving as my face melted. Despite that, my heart ached, and my lungs forgot to breathe. It was a conflict.

I knew you loved me for a moment, and I knew I loved you as well, yet. I wasn’t sure if it would have worked out. Everything told me it wouldn’t, and like always, it was right.

It came out of nowhere, a premature love born of two fools who couldn’t afford to stand. We both knew the outcome was inevitable, yet I truly hoped for a future where things would work out. I hoped we could’ve stood for a little while longer, just so that I could savor the happiness I’ve always dreamt of, for just a little longer.

I hate to admit it, but I still love you. I still love you, a whole lot. I still wish to have been able to hold your hands and look you in the eyes, tell you: “You’re worth every ounce of love given and locked away in the near future.” I still wish to have been able to lie next to you in bed as your face taints my memory, and into the slumber that falls beneath starry, midwestern skies. 

I hate to admit it, but I still wake up every morning checking my phone, seeing if you sent any new messages. Whenever I start missing you, I read through our texts, and before I fall asleep, I listen to recordings of your voice so that it’s the last thing I hear.

I’d dance through these forsaken nights, drunken on the drug that calls itself “love.” An unfathomable reality where someone reciprocates – especially someone who’s everything I could have asked for in a partner.

I’d dance across the frozen, barren lake, as the reality settles in like the falling, winter snow. It gently comes in storms, the cold piercing through my skin as they melt upon impact. Your insecurities and pessimism swallow you up, falling deep within the blackened void you surround yourself in.

“But what if it’s not okay?” I repeat to myself, pushing that thought deeper and deeper down my throat as I repeat to myself: it will be okay. I want it to be okay, with every bone and cell gravitating, despite the rejection of my very own heart.

“But what if it’s not okay?” I know it’s not, and it never was. You’ve become comfortable with the thought I won’t leave, no matter how you treat me. You push, and you test. You’ve settled and hooked me with your attention.

Your invulnerability to vulnerability – a fatal flaw you carry. You paint yourself as a false martyr, a tragic hero who marches along a path stained with the blood of his past beloved. But you’re blinded by ego, unable to see your sword tainted by the same blood you trample.

I wonder how many you’ve discarded, slaining them as proof of affection. I wonder how many you stripped of innocence, claiming that lying to the both of you led to the best outcome. You hurt them – hurt me in the process. You were right to call us fools, but a fool I shall forever be, believing in an avoidant. A fool you’ll forever be, forsaken into the void you built from wounds of the past.

If I took your hands now, I’d say it again. I’ll sing it loud enough; it echoes through the chambers of your soul. I’ll say it once more, in hopes it carves deep into your skin. No matter how you’ve hurt me, how you’ve turned every night into a restless battle against my own self:

“You’re worth every ounce of love given and locked away in the near future.”

But perhaps that future may only come once you find peace.