That I my thoughts may dim
When I met him, it was love at first words. He was wearing a fedora and a green and white striped button-up shirt. He wished he could have been alive during the 1960s. He was obssessive about music. He kissed me, and we couldn't stop.
I probably should have known it wouldn't last. I would have loved him anyway, and then maybe the end wouldn't have seemed so sudden and inexplicable. I would have married the man. (That man, with the horribly juvenile friends and the bitchy mother and the chip on his shoulder and no appreciation for poetry! Imagine!) I loved to spend time with him, doing nothing. I loved his thought process, his off-hand jokes, his bizarre comments and impressions, his unique interests and obssessions. I loved playing video games with him. I loved reading books to him. I loved to travel with him. I loved to drink with him. He always made me laugh, and he always made me feel loved. And he always made me feel wanted. He was the best kisser of my life, and the first person I had sex with. I loved to hear him breathe heavy, I lived to hear him moan. I loved to taste his skin. I'll never do those things again. I may eventually talk someone else into having sex with me, but I'll never watch his eyes turn from green to gray as he gets progressively turned on. I may scratch my nails down someone else's back, I may kiss someone else's neck like it's going out of style, but I will never make love to him again, and to be totally frank, that fucking kills me.
But I don't just miss the passion and the intimacy, the ecstacy and the comfort. I don't just miss having a lover. I miss him. I miss every aspect of his being. I miss his voice, his warmth, I miss every part of him. I would do anything to erase every memory I have of him. If I could forget him, I wouldn't have to miss him. If I had never loved him, I would never have felt this awful grief, this painful longing that never goes away.
I probably should have known it wouldn't last. I would have loved him anyway, and then maybe the end wouldn't have seemed so sudden and inexplicable. I would have married the man. (That man, with the horribly juvenile friends and the bitchy mother and the chip on his shoulder and no appreciation for poetry! Imagine!) I loved to spend time with him, doing nothing. I loved his thought process, his off-hand jokes, his bizarre comments and impressions, his unique interests and obssessions. I loved playing video games with him. I loved reading books to him. I loved to travel with him. I loved to drink with him. He always made me laugh, and he always made me feel loved. And he always made me feel wanted. He was the best kisser of my life, and the first person I had sex with. I loved to hear him breathe heavy, I lived to hear him moan. I loved to taste his skin. I'll never do those things again. I may eventually talk someone else into having sex with me, but I'll never watch his eyes turn from green to gray as he gets progressively turned on. I may scratch my nails down someone else's back, I may kiss someone else's neck like it's going out of style, but I will never make love to him again, and to be totally frank, that fucking kills me.
But I don't just miss the passion and the intimacy, the ecstacy and the comfort. I don't just miss having a lover. I miss him. I miss every aspect of his being. I miss his voice, his warmth, I miss every part of him. I would do anything to erase every memory I have of him. If I could forget him, I wouldn't have to miss him. If I had never loved him, I would never have felt this awful grief, this painful longing that never goes away.
On a Scale from 1 to Bitter: Hopeless
1-800-Bitterness.com Radio: Cake - Sad Songs and Waltzes
1-800-Bitterness.com Reading List: Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis
1-800-Bitterness.com Radio: Cake - Sad Songs and Waltzes
1-800-Bitterness.com Reading List: Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis
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