Trasatlanticism

Every time I think about you a tear wells up in the corner of my eyes. I think about all those nights we spent together, all the mornings in between. Life seemed easier when we were younger, as if time was letting us know to hold on to something I didn’t know we would let go of. I remember turning over to face you, being in awe every time, I see your face and my heart melts as if it were the first time hearing your name. It took me three years to see what your hand writing looked like for the first time. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before then. Maybe because it was always me writing to you. Now I am in New York, far away from the place we had first met. The west seems like another world. And I am here, writing again. I kept reading in books that writers wrote when they couldn’t bare to feel what they had inside of them. I am here, feeling it all. I feel the spaces between my lips as I spoke when we kissed. I often tell you I love you when our faces are close together. 

You weigh me down like no other. As if I swam in the Atlantic and I found myself in the valleys far beneath the surface. Time has seem to run its course. Faster than I planned. And I can’t seem to swim any longer. I still smell your scent on the sweater I packed with me over to the east coast. I still hold the books you gifted me, and I still look at the photos of you every night, even the ones on film. 

Heart break seems like the most significant thing in your life when you are going through it. As if every decision is based upon this one thing that happened. I keep running around the idea of never seeing you again. Because when you say goodbye to a person who lives on the other side of the country, there’s no chance of running into them at your favorite bagel shop. I walk the streets of New York as if you were next to me, like we did that summer ago. You walked to my house in the rain and I remember thinking that if people were seasons, you were summer in December. Every part of you I feel and I remember and I miss. I miss you so much. Sometimes I am scared to stop speaking to each other because I fear I will never love like this again. I think we only get one real big love in our life. After that grand love the next seem to dwindle because our reality has gravitated our expectations. We know what saying goodbye is like. We did it so often I think we started to do it more than not. I hate the way there is no conclusion to us. Everything has started to feel like a run on sentence with no middle of end, just the beginning on loop and hoping that that’s what will ground us again.