Sometimes, late at night, I lay and wonder where you are.
But that’s all I can do: wonder. Wonder how you are, what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been. You’re my guilty pleasure; the addiction that I can never quite kick. It’s exhausting thinking how breathlessly enchanted I was with you, yet I can never be anything more than content now that you are gone. Your constant haunting has ruined me, and the reoccurring memories render me unsatisfied.
Your crooked smile, the way you traced the back of my neck with your finger, the smell of your clothes and the unending road trips. Each one of them a bittersweet memory leaving the dry taste of regret and remorse.
Some days, I have to restrain every urge to pick up the phone and call you.
But I can’t. What would I have to say? What could I say? Everything was so long ago, yet almost feels like yesterday. I still have your bracelet, and I still have the tickets from the night that where we drove until the early hours of the morning. I can still faintly hear you voice, hear the crackle in your laugh and the way that you would hum along to our favourite songs.
But times have changed, I should be happy. I found someone. Someone who makes me content. But I can never feel that spark, that unending dreamlike euphoria of yearning to spend every minute with that one person. I’m stuck in the trap of being content but pretending to be infatuated with the boy who seems just short of perfect, and desiring the enthralling pseudo-perfect image of you that remains in my mind. But if I shut my eyes and push you away, I’m happy. In fact, I have the possibility of loving, but risk that it may only be with half of my heart. Because, you are far from evanescent. You have no intention to leave my mind, for you have already marked my heart.
I just don’t know what to do anymore: stay or flee; disregard or cling?