‹ Prequel: In the Month of May
One-Hundred Days
Day Twenty-Seven: Love
"Hello, Love."
You would say that to everyone and anyone. Passing on the street, you'd yell out a strong hello, love! When you held me close for the first few seconds we saw each other in a moment, you'd duck your face into my neck and whisper a soft and sweet hello, love.
It used to make me special, that little endearment, meant for a country other than our own, but now, it only makes me feel like tearing those notes and moments into pieces.
"Hello, Love!" You wrapped your arms around me, smiling, and I wrapped mine around you, as you ducked your face into the soft skin of my bare shoulder and whispered the greeting once again. I only rested my forehead on your own shoulder and closed my eyes.
It was years ago that you had first said those words to me. I hadn't even known you, then, we had met at a place that thousands of people meet others for the first time every day. It wasn't an uncommon happening, you and I, but for us, it seemed to be everything.
It's funny, isn't it, how something so ordinary to people can mean absolutely everything and spell out the one perfect moment for one individual? It's funny, how the porch swing where you had your first kiss is just another ordinary porch swing to anyone walking by it. It's funny, how the place that you first held hands with the person you were in love with at the moment is just any other place to other people.
These places that mean the world to you, so overflowing with memories that can barely be contained inside of your mind, are absolutely nothing to everyone but you.
That day, it was nothing for me. I met you, and something sparked inside of my hollow chest, but I kept walking away from you. You always managed to find me again, though, in a way that I had thought of as a miracle then, and even still do now. We were in a giant lot, with hundreds of people, all different and alike, where the heat and excitement and music does things to your minds you'd rather it not, and yet no matter how far away I went through the dirt and heat and sweat, you still found me.
We held hands beneath the hot summer sun, standing with hundreds of other people, necks craned upwards to the stage setting in front of us. We had interlocked our fingers only to keep hold of each other, and on my other side was my best friend holding onto another friend.
It's hard to keep track of someone in such a mass of bodies and excitement.
I walked away from you, dragged away by the other hand locked with mine. You saw me again a month later, by some sort of miracle of us being in the same place at the same time. You yelled hello, love! through the crowd in empty white hallways and I turned to a familiar face and voice. We saw each other after a month of wondering and searching, and as we found each other in the crowds we whispered the same thing into each other's shoulders.
It's a miracle.
You seemed to have a knack for that, love. You had a knack for finding me when I was lost, even when I wasn't aware I was. You found me when I had fallen and was looking for anyone and anything to fill that empty gaping hole inside of my aching chest.
And now, I think it has been three months, at the most. Everything I've written since March has been about you, and you're so surprisingly easy to write about. Your eyes and smile and everything you ever said. Everything everyone ever said to me about nothing good ever coming out of you and I.
I found you and you somehow filled a hole in my chest I hadn't even known existed.
You fixed a wound I made to myself while slowly giving me a new one.
I wish I could take every memory of you and I, love. I wish I could take every memory of every moment I ever spent with you or talking about you or thinking about you and write it down in perfect heartache inducing detail. I wish I could write it all down and rip it to pieces, sheet by sheet and memory by memory. I wish I could tear it apart like you tore apart my heart in a way I hadn't even known was possible.
I would write it all down in mind numbing detail and hand it to you, and walk away. I wouldn't let you find me again, I wouldn't let myself fall down again.
I wish I could write every single moment and memory in perfect detail.
I wish I could write about the thing that I thought was love.
I would tear it to pieces.
You would say that to everyone and anyone. Passing on the street, you'd yell out a strong hello, love! When you held me close for the first few seconds we saw each other in a moment, you'd duck your face into my neck and whisper a soft and sweet hello, love.
It used to make me special, that little endearment, meant for a country other than our own, but now, it only makes me feel like tearing those notes and moments into pieces.
"Hello, Love!" You wrapped your arms around me, smiling, and I wrapped mine around you, as you ducked your face into the soft skin of my bare shoulder and whispered the greeting once again. I only rested my forehead on your own shoulder and closed my eyes.
It was years ago that you had first said those words to me. I hadn't even known you, then, we had met at a place that thousands of people meet others for the first time every day. It wasn't an uncommon happening, you and I, but for us, it seemed to be everything.
It's funny, isn't it, how something so ordinary to people can mean absolutely everything and spell out the one perfect moment for one individual? It's funny, how the porch swing where you had your first kiss is just another ordinary porch swing to anyone walking by it. It's funny, how the place that you first held hands with the person you were in love with at the moment is just any other place to other people.
These places that mean the world to you, so overflowing with memories that can barely be contained inside of your mind, are absolutely nothing to everyone but you.
That day, it was nothing for me. I met you, and something sparked inside of my hollow chest, but I kept walking away from you. You always managed to find me again, though, in a way that I had thought of as a miracle then, and even still do now. We were in a giant lot, with hundreds of people, all different and alike, where the heat and excitement and music does things to your minds you'd rather it not, and yet no matter how far away I went through the dirt and heat and sweat, you still found me.
We held hands beneath the hot summer sun, standing with hundreds of other people, necks craned upwards to the stage setting in front of us. We had interlocked our fingers only to keep hold of each other, and on my other side was my best friend holding onto another friend.
It's hard to keep track of someone in such a mass of bodies and excitement.
I walked away from you, dragged away by the other hand locked with mine. You saw me again a month later, by some sort of miracle of us being in the same place at the same time. You yelled hello, love! through the crowd in empty white hallways and I turned to a familiar face and voice. We saw each other after a month of wondering and searching, and as we found each other in the crowds we whispered the same thing into each other's shoulders.
It's a miracle.
You seemed to have a knack for that, love. You had a knack for finding me when I was lost, even when I wasn't aware I was. You found me when I had fallen and was looking for anyone and anything to fill that empty gaping hole inside of my aching chest.
And now, I think it has been three months, at the most. Everything I've written since March has been about you, and you're so surprisingly easy to write about. Your eyes and smile and everything you ever said. Everything everyone ever said to me about nothing good ever coming out of you and I.
I found you and you somehow filled a hole in my chest I hadn't even known existed.
You fixed a wound I made to myself while slowly giving me a new one.
I wish I could take every memory of you and I, love. I wish I could take every memory of every moment I ever spent with you or talking about you or thinking about you and write it down in perfect heartache inducing detail. I wish I could write it all down and rip it to pieces, sheet by sheet and memory by memory. I wish I could tear it apart like you tore apart my heart in a way I hadn't even known was possible.
I would write it all down in mind numbing detail and hand it to you, and walk away. I wouldn't let you find me again, I wouldn't let myself fall down again.
I wish I could write every single moment and memory in perfect detail.
I wish I could write about the thing that I thought was love.
I would tear it to pieces.