I sit on the stairs smoking my cigarette and taking in your words. You intoxicate me more now than ever before and I wonder if it is because we will never be together the way I once imagined us. Your words are like a breath of air to me. So precious. So life giving.
Our link, our connection; The Moon. And I look up to find nothing but a blackened version of the day. The moon escapes my gaze and I cry. I see our connection slipping away like the moon from the sky.
So silently I scream. I want to run to you, to see you, to feel you, to touch you. To know that our connection is still there. To remember how it used to be. To have it back. To have you back. Though I wonder if I ever had you in the beginning.
Perhaps I do not love you. Perhaps I never have. It IS entirely possible that I have mistakenly turned my admiration of your poetry into feelings for you. My love for dramatic and tragic stories may have sent me on this self destructive path. I feel caught up in a sappy love story where the lovers part in the end, like The Bodyguard. Where we wish they would be together but the joining of these two in the end of the story would never work. Their love only exists if they part. So we cry and walk out of the theatre heaving a sigh and concurring with our friends that yes "it sucked" but it really WAS an excellent movie.
I tip my head to the night one last time as the tar and nicotine envelope my lungs. The moon still hides. I nod. The truth hurts yet it allows us to begin life again. I stand up, return to the house and pick up the phone to call the man I love. My soul mate. My best friend. My fiance.
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