forbidden love

9 Mar


It was a tiny picture but it did the trick. The picture was too small to make out eye colour but it was detailed enough to capture: I’ve moved on and I’m in love. They were holding each other in a comical, “I’m on vacation” or “I’m drunk and free” sort of way but it was enough to punch my insides and force me to feel what I’ve been trying to ignore: I once love him too.

I have worked hard to erase that time from my mind. Nothing was saved, no detailed memories savoured, nothing. All I have is a picture that I secretly keep but refuse to stare for more than 18 seconds. It’s out of focus but captures him as I choose to remember – smiling and unaware. I hurry quickly to read, write, shout – anything to forget before a memory replays itself. I allow nothing that can make me feel, as I felt after our goodbyes were said.

It’s tragic to be this cold but in the end I am right and he is gone. I am flushed with reality that negativity has done nothing more than silence any movement in my life. A flash of thought of making love with him angers, shakens, numbs everything. Who was he? And why has he left such impacts on me? Is it because that he’s moved on and I havent’? That I have denied that the joys of freedom of morning what’s no longer there?

I take the dog for a walk and feel the cold of this fine March morning. A new surrounding, a new season and a tragic new start. There was a man outside, and I caught him picking up a cigarette that someone had dropped. He stuffed it into his pocket and began to walk toward me. I’m learning to make eye contact with strangers – no matter how crazy I think the may be. He stared back and for a moment a pity so tragic washed over me that I wanted to cry. I see myself in his old and weathered face. The only difference between he and I is that I still have time to correct my wrongs where he now lays in a bed filled with unlived dreams, selfish regrets and possibly a loveless past.

Last night I saw the tiny picture of a past love in his present state. His joy beamed bright and laughed of my broken heart. But I suppose that this is my last laugh, my dear john, or my statement to a new start. A crack of light, and responsibility awaits. My dog barks as I collect my shoes; he knows I’m getting ready to take him for one more walk before I shave, shower and dress. My coffee cup is almost empty but I am full. I have my dreams that are my love. They promise that I will be ok and because I am young there is time to foolishly believe that I will be. One last sip from my cup of coffee and I will forget this ever happened. This note too I will ignore, and fade from my mind. At most, I’ll glance and allow 18 seconds because it’s not mine anymore – it’s his. What he gave me I now give back. He’ll know I think of him and deep down he’ll love knowing that sometimes I’m not ok.

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