The Sun Goes down Alone
my love for you will still be strong
Dear mine,
I always loved calling you that. Mine. And, although I can’t remember the last time I heard your voice, I still remember the way it sounds. I remember all the small insignificant things. That is what I do best.
Remember the way we used to walk along the boardwalk, you holding the cotton candy in one hand and mine in other? I do. I also remember the way it felt to have the feeling on your skin over mine. Even if it was for the small part, such as hand, but it felt like it was all around me.
Remember that summer, when everybody was at the beach, and we stayed at your house looking at fat people walking around, proud of their bodies? I had spilled a beer over my jeans and shirt and you gave me yours, remember, the blue stripped one that looked like a dress when I wore it, going down to just above my knees. It had your scent all over; I still remember it, so strong.
Remember that small coffee place where you used to take me, because every time you tried making coffee you would set the kitchen on fire? Not really, but something would happen and you would swear and curse out loud. I used to stand at the door frame watching you clean the mess, and God, you looked so adorable.
Remember how I used to get all mushy and girly while watching The Notebook? And you held my hand, sitting all throughout the movie, handing me tissues and telling me that it was only a movie.
You loved seeing me cry. I never cried because of you, well never in a meaning of you doing anything to hurt me. It was the good stuff. I loved how you talked to me, your words small, and often without a meaning, but somehow, they were perfectly constructed in my mind. You told me that my eyes got the perfect shade of blue when I cried. Almost like an ocean.
I still remember the time you told me that looking yourself in the mirror, you see my eyes in yours.
I never understood what you meant with that, but I love the way you said it.
Even when you were far away, as far as going to another part of the world, I still thought of you. And at times I might forgot the way you looked, or sounded or smelled, there were always the small things that made me remember.
It’s summer now. It reminds me of you. A memory of you.
I went to the park yesterday and saw little kids playing. They were laughing and they were happy. A genuine happiness and innocence. Just like we used to be. I stayed there until its mother took the last kid home; I watched the Sun going down. And I missed you. I missed you to complete the puzzle in my life, to get us back like we were summers ago.
I miss you so much. I miss your blue eyes and your scruffy hair and your clothes, two sizes too big for you. I miss your hands around my shoulders and your lips on my temple and your heartbeat next to mine. I miss everything about you, and even though I never told you, I did love you.
You are not mine anymore. You have someone else’s eyes looking at you, looking at them, even in your reflection in a mirror. You have someone else’s hand holding yours, trying to steal cotton candy from you. You give your shirts to someone else. I am happy for you. I am happy for myself because I have somebody now as well. He is not you, but he is good to me. Never made me cry, never did me harm.
I remember you going off when I broke up with my boyfriend because he wasn’t for me. You told me you never want me to be with someone who didn’t deserve me. You had such a high thought of me, when, in fact, I was the one who didn’t deserve you.
I contemplated sending this letter to you, but I didn’t. Truth be told I sound like a heartbroken teenage girl with her hopes crushed, but I’m not. I wanted to remember you, and that was unsuccessful as well. I can’t remember you. Only the small, insignificant things. Things that don’t matter to anyone but me.
And that’s good. I have you in my memory the way I love it. The way I love you. And I will always do that.
Love, always yours.
I always loved calling you that. Mine. And, although I can’t remember the last time I heard your voice, I still remember the way it sounds. I remember all the small insignificant things. That is what I do best.
Remember the way we used to walk along the boardwalk, you holding the cotton candy in one hand and mine in other? I do. I also remember the way it felt to have the feeling on your skin over mine. Even if it was for the small part, such as hand, but it felt like it was all around me.
Remember that summer, when everybody was at the beach, and we stayed at your house looking at fat people walking around, proud of their bodies? I had spilled a beer over my jeans and shirt and you gave me yours, remember, the blue stripped one that looked like a dress when I wore it, going down to just above my knees. It had your scent all over; I still remember it, so strong.
Remember that small coffee place where you used to take me, because every time you tried making coffee you would set the kitchen on fire? Not really, but something would happen and you would swear and curse out loud. I used to stand at the door frame watching you clean the mess, and God, you looked so adorable.
Remember how I used to get all mushy and girly while watching The Notebook? And you held my hand, sitting all throughout the movie, handing me tissues and telling me that it was only a movie.
You loved seeing me cry. I never cried because of you, well never in a meaning of you doing anything to hurt me. It was the good stuff. I loved how you talked to me, your words small, and often without a meaning, but somehow, they were perfectly constructed in my mind. You told me that my eyes got the perfect shade of blue when I cried. Almost like an ocean.
I still remember the time you told me that looking yourself in the mirror, you see my eyes in yours.
I never understood what you meant with that, but I love the way you said it.
Even when you were far away, as far as going to another part of the world, I still thought of you. And at times I might forgot the way you looked, or sounded or smelled, there were always the small things that made me remember.
It’s summer now. It reminds me of you. A memory of you.
I went to the park yesterday and saw little kids playing. They were laughing and they were happy. A genuine happiness and innocence. Just like we used to be. I stayed there until its mother took the last kid home; I watched the Sun going down. And I missed you. I missed you to complete the puzzle in my life, to get us back like we were summers ago.
I miss you so much. I miss your blue eyes and your scruffy hair and your clothes, two sizes too big for you. I miss your hands around my shoulders and your lips on my temple and your heartbeat next to mine. I miss everything about you, and even though I never told you, I did love you.
You are not mine anymore. You have someone else’s eyes looking at you, looking at them, even in your reflection in a mirror. You have someone else’s hand holding yours, trying to steal cotton candy from you. You give your shirts to someone else. I am happy for you. I am happy for myself because I have somebody now as well. He is not you, but he is good to me. Never made me cry, never did me harm.
I remember you going off when I broke up with my boyfriend because he wasn’t for me. You told me you never want me to be with someone who didn’t deserve me. You had such a high thought of me, when, in fact, I was the one who didn’t deserve you.
I contemplated sending this letter to you, but I didn’t. Truth be told I sound like a heartbroken teenage girl with her hopes crushed, but I’m not. I wanted to remember you, and that was unsuccessful as well. I can’t remember you. Only the small, insignificant things. Things that don’t matter to anyone but me.
And that’s good. I have you in my memory the way I love it. The way I love you. And I will always do that.
Love, always yours.