I loved him
I, in my young age, know I love him.
Maybe one day in the future I will believe that this, isn't love that this, is simply something smaller that this, is not what I actually want for the future.
But it's what I want know.
He, is what I want now.
I want his eyes, the most deep and tired eyes I've ever seen, but never drowning me- no.
His eyes were low but they never held deceet or pessimism, they seem to long for something more than what our color spectrum can properly provide. They shined for me. Searching for me.
I want the scent of his clothes so etched in my nose that I can feel like it is the scent air was always meant to have. The dirty, burnt coffee smell. Large, black. Nothing more. Never- anything more or you'd ruin the flavor of the bean itself.
And I want those hands, EVERYWHERE. Whether they be guiding my hips as we dance across the cement when no one is watching, or tangled in my hair as he whispers sweet nothings and commands in my ear because he knows I love being told what to do, or clasped in the palm of mine because he won't tangle fingers with my broken ones- he doesn't want to hurt me.. Hands entirely to myself.. Holding me safe...
When I look back on it now the hands where never mine, I rented them from him on lonely nights and affectionate hours. He wanted to give me what I needed, what he wanted. I have no doubt he wanted to hold me. But hands connected to arms connected to shoulders that had been carrying more than they could handle from the moment they prematurely ripped him into this world could not sustain and tight enough grip to counter my own.
Looking back on it now I can see why he always smelled like the freshest pot of coffee in the diner we'd always go too. In the scarce moments he was able to sleep between shifts, the nightmares of what ifs and could be's bullied him awake. He said he loved the smell of coffee. I can't anymore.
Looking back on it now I should have know that it wasn't a new shade of purple or green, these eyes definitely drowning, these eyes all while very tired...
They never shined for me. They searched not for me but for own personal sense of belonging.
I love him.
In my young age, I still love him. And with this I know, he never loved me. He may have thought he did. But a wise woman believed that if you truly love someone, it will not fade. I will never stop loving him. At least I can say I always did.
