Heart Open

I’d been trying to write a story about us, about what we had and never were.
Our story starts in winter. I was brokenhearted, writing a letter to a man that wasn’t you. 
You cried for someone else’s touch. It seemed easy for us to mend each other’s through our respective despairs, but your ever changing mind couldn’t decide what it wanted.

We gave each other a chance, risked ourselves too many times. We found something in each other that we’ll never be able to explain. You know I love you, and deep down I know you do too. But alas, this story has been attempted to be written for a too long a time now. It all seems like a confabulation, there’s no connection between words, missing points in every line, and in every phrase you speak.

I’m afraid I’ll finally turn the page because I’m uncertain if it’s the last one; closing our story.
Normally, a conclusion wraps up fast, but what hurts is what comes next:
the days spent in bed thinking of what we could’ve been, looking back at all of the memories made, and changing the words in discussions that could’ve been avoided.
If only one of us had the guts to make a reckless move for our love, could this story have been composed.

I won’t deny I’m afraid of the ending, because I know it’s decided you’ll forget about me.
In those words you’ll let go of the first days spent together, when I was too nervous to even speak a word.
Then you’ll let go of the springs, the ones where we held each other’s hands and rubbed each other lips.
And for what it’s worth, you have one of the nicest lips I’ve ever caressed. Has anyone ever told you that?

What I’m most terrified of is you’ll forget about the summer, you know how important the sun is to me.
You declared we could try once more in May. It seemed impossible, but I gave you that chance.
Days later, you fractured me again as if it meant nothing. They told me you weren’t good enough, but I was willing to atone.
Deep down I knew I loved you even if it meant I had to do so as a friend.

I continuously asked myself: what will happen if I ever forget about you? But I know I’ll never be able to.
How could I forget your laugh, the sound? How you gazed your eyes into mine as a perfect curve rounded upright on the lower portion of your face.
How you touched my hand, so softly, yet so confident.
The same action that made me tremble deep inside and propel peace all over my body. I loved that subtle move of yours.

I’ll miss making fun of your black jeans and white tennis shoes. Turning the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen sad every single time. But you knew I was joking and smiled right through it. How could I possibly forget the raspy voice that gave me chills every time you confessed a compliment to me? Or your thousand hugs, those which you’d never miss a single one. And I’ll confess I pretended to be angry, but I was caving in from the happiness inside my heart when you arms raveled my body.

I acknowledge this ending is all my fault. With my insecurities to blame and everything I’m afraid of; I won’t incriminate you this time. For once, it isn’t your fault. At last, I had to be the one who had the guts to save our love. Even if deep down, I was hoping you’d be the one that would save me. But you won’t.

This story could go on forever, without a start or finish line. An endless map lacking routes and directions. A never ending oasis of affection which was never explored or handled. We never burnt anything, yet ashes will remain of what it was. But I’ll take this dust over nothing. I only wish I was brave enough to take you over everything.

Maybe you deserve more than what I could offer.  I’d give you my everything if I just felt enough.
But It’s winter again, so let’s not make this any longer.
We both know that there’s no ending to a story which was never written.

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