Gone
Just You
I’m not the type to cling to people, to show them any sort of emotion. I’m the type of person that scares others, even if I don’t mean it. I don’t know why, though, especially since I don’t mean to. But now you’re never going to tell me how I do that, are you? You said that you would, but now you never will.
I’ve lost you, you see, and now you’re gone. You’re gone, even though I’m still clinging to you like my life depends on it, even though I still need you.
I can smell your laundry detergent as I’m crying—sobbing, really—into your chest, burying my head into your side, and making a damn fool of myself. I’m shaking, my face is hot and wet from the hysterics, and I just want you to stay. I just wanna be able to smell your laundry detergent, even if I hate the stuff and it makes me so fucking itchy. I wanna watch you go out of your way to make sure that your food doesn’t touch. I wanna be able to see you every day, just like I’ve gotten to for the past year. I just want you, Caleb. Just you.
My heart is breaking, you know. It’s fucking shattering. And I think that the worst part is that it’s totally preventable, that you of all the people in the universe are the one that can just bring my suffering to an end. You can fix this, but you’re not. You won’t, and I know that. I don’t want to, but I do.
“I have to go,” you say, attempting to pry my arms from around you. You’re in an iron-grip. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Please, Caleb,” I plead. My grip is tightening around you, and I know that it must be painful, both to look at, and to feel; we know that I’m strong, if only in the physical aspect. You took me to the gym a few times, remember? To see how much iron I could press, or something to that extent? You said that I looked strong that day, that I looked strong all the time. You said that you liked your men with some muscle, and my face must’ve turned ten different shades of red, something that I’m not used to in the slightest. I don’t blush, Caleb, except when I’m around you. It only happens when I’m around you.
But, this proves that I’m not strong emotionally, if there was ever any doubt of that before. I’m crumbling at the airport, earning a hell of a lot of weird stares and murmured comments like, “Fucking gross.” And it feels like I’m dying. It just feels like I’m dying. I don’t know how else to put it. You’re like a heartbeat, like blood, like oxygen—you keep me going.
You’re leaving me, though, just like everybody else has. Just like you promised you’d never do.
“I have to go,” you say again, clearing your throat. “I’ll see you around.”
I know that I can’t win this, that I can’t win you, so I let go. You nearly run away from me; you’re walking fast enough to cause a few to stare at you, but not fast enough where you’re stopping traffic. Fast enough, though, to make it clear that you don’t want to be anywhere near me, that you don’t want to stay, that you don’t want to make sure that I won’t break again. Fast enough to make it clear that you no longer give a shit what happens to me.
“No you won’t,” I murmur.
I’ve lost you, you see, and now you’re gone. You’re gone, even though I’m still clinging to you like my life depends on it, even though I still need you.
I can smell your laundry detergent as I’m crying—sobbing, really—into your chest, burying my head into your side, and making a damn fool of myself. I’m shaking, my face is hot and wet from the hysterics, and I just want you to stay. I just wanna be able to smell your laundry detergent, even if I hate the stuff and it makes me so fucking itchy. I wanna watch you go out of your way to make sure that your food doesn’t touch. I wanna be able to see you every day, just like I’ve gotten to for the past year. I just want you, Caleb. Just you.
My heart is breaking, you know. It’s fucking shattering. And I think that the worst part is that it’s totally preventable, that you of all the people in the universe are the one that can just bring my suffering to an end. You can fix this, but you’re not. You won’t, and I know that. I don’t want to, but I do.
“I have to go,” you say, attempting to pry my arms from around you. You’re in an iron-grip. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Please, Caleb,” I plead. My grip is tightening around you, and I know that it must be painful, both to look at, and to feel; we know that I’m strong, if only in the physical aspect. You took me to the gym a few times, remember? To see how much iron I could press, or something to that extent? You said that I looked strong that day, that I looked strong all the time. You said that you liked your men with some muscle, and my face must’ve turned ten different shades of red, something that I’m not used to in the slightest. I don’t blush, Caleb, except when I’m around you. It only happens when I’m around you.
But, this proves that I’m not strong emotionally, if there was ever any doubt of that before. I’m crumbling at the airport, earning a hell of a lot of weird stares and murmured comments like, “Fucking gross.” And it feels like I’m dying. It just feels like I’m dying. I don’t know how else to put it. You’re like a heartbeat, like blood, like oxygen—you keep me going.
You’re leaving me, though, just like everybody else has. Just like you promised you’d never do.
“I have to go,” you say again, clearing your throat. “I’ll see you around.”
I know that I can’t win this, that I can’t win you, so I let go. You nearly run away from me; you’re walking fast enough to cause a few to stare at you, but not fast enough where you’re stopping traffic. Fast enough, though, to make it clear that you don’t want to be anywhere near me, that you don’t want to stay, that you don’t want to make sure that I won’t break again. Fast enough to make it clear that you no longer give a shit what happens to me.
“No you won’t,” I murmur.