Notes on Heartbreak

I can't describe the feeling of sleeping next to the one you love, you can only ever know from experience. It seems so juvenile, so overrated, yet it is one of the many things about love that I can't seem to let go. Our first sleepover was in an environment very far from romantic. Just outside the door red cups were scattered across the floor, a boy lay in a bathtub vomiting, and music pounded through loud speakers. I heard nothing. With my head on his chest it was as though we were the only two people left on earth. God, I could have laid like that for the rest of my life. The feeling of his body against mine, supporting and holding me, made me feel untouchable and safe. I would be content waking up to him every day for the rest of my life, having his arms always be the ones wrapped around me. He is perfect. I love being angry with him, that feeling of panic that overcomes me as I realize I run the risk of losing him at any second. He is perfect and he is all mine. He is all that I want. I want to sink into his arms, I want to get lost in them, in his eyes, just in him in general. He is my partner in crime, the one I can be myself around. Before him, crying was never an option. I was guarded beyond belief, desperately attempting to keep it all together, to come off as though I didn't give a fuck about anything or anyone. But when he came, I couldn't pretend any longer. He knows me like the back of his hand. He knows how I tick, what makes me mad, and what makes me happy. I hope he knows I love him, I hope he knows I always have and that I will never stop. I hope he knows I would do anything to take back the hurt I have caused him, to go back to the us that was present in these memories. I know we are still those people, I don't think we ever stopped being them. I just think we got lost.