Sinking Faster

“I love you,” I managed to drawl out underneath the gasps that unsteadied my breathing. “Don’t leave me.”

My fists were balled up in the cotton of his shirt, a fresh layer of mascara falling upon it. I looked up at him, my gaze steady. I was not ready for this. I was not ready for him to leave yet. I was choking my breath, my stomach clenching.

All this long way I’ve learned what it felt like to be in love. Yes, I knew what it felt like to love, but never in love; not the fact that it was so absolute, so endless. I used to be the sharpest cynic; skeptical and naïve. I never knew what it felt like. Until he came along down that winding path that I kept hidden away, hidden away from others to see, the part of my heart I never knew existed. There he came, at full force, so unexpectedly. And here I was, standing here with my heart in my hands, unprepared.

Now here I stand, about sixty-five days later to be exact, in this same apartment. God, the whole place smelled like him. I could feel his sheets in my hand, feel his hair at the curves of my fingertips and see the smile in his eyes.

He was just what I needed. I was too afraid to admit it. How could you rely on one person, so much that they were the antidote to your suffering? Is that wrong? Is that being in love?

This is the closest definition I have to love on account of all these memories, all established by this person.

This was also the same person that would eventually break my heart into minuscule little pieces.