I love you. I love your face. I love the way your beard makes me shiver. I love the pretty words that come out of your mouth when you’re trying to make me laugh. One day, we’re going to part, and the only thing I want you to remember when I’m no longer of this Earth is that not a day went by that I didn’t thank my lucky stars for you.
No final das contas, era isso o que mais me doĂa, pois quando o amor se torna impossĂvel, sĂł nos resta uma alternativa. Amar em silĂŞncio. Chorar em silĂŞncio. Em segredo.
I desperately wanted to say Please Don’t Waste Your Time on Me because I feared that I would somehow be the cause of his undoing if I allowed him to faun over me in the ways that his heart desired. He was, after all, Enlightened and I was a Caster. There was no possibility of his interest in me ever becoming anything more than a romantic fable...
Kiss me hard, let your wetness linger along my lips. I want to drown against you, our bodies woven together and raging in ecstatic synchrony. I don’t want to lie in an easy, hollow embrace. I want to feel the hunger emanating from you. I want the desire to swallow me. I want it to hurt. I want you to show me that this matters. That we matter. That you would risk it all for me. Love me with everything you have or don’t love me at all.
One day, I will wake up with a terrible longing for you. And in some corner of the world, your heart will skip several beats at the thought of my name. And you’ll finally know what I meant when I said: When you stand near a burning pyre, the heat tends to rub off on you.
They either come back or they don’t. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you learn. As you go through mundane days with so much of pain beating in your chest that you feel it will explode. You strike days off your calendar, waiting, going for a run, picking up a new hobby, while trying to numb that part of your brain that refuses to forget the little details of your skin. Soon, you start sleeping in the middle of the bed, learn how to get through the evenings alone, go to cafes and cities alone, you learn how to cook enough dinner for yourself and just make do without the kisses on your neck. You learn…Adjust..Accept.. The tumor of pain already exploded one lonely night when you played his voice recording by mistake.. by mistake.. But you didn’t die.. Did you? They either come back.. or they don’t.. You survive..
Men like you happen once. Women like me prefer to live our lives cautiously with your after taste, lessons and splinters of broken heart underneath our tongues.