Promise.

And the worst bit was that I knew our relationship was collapsing. My ludicrous dreams of a happy family were viciously snatched away, deemed out-of-reach for certain.

Like a smoker was addicted to their cancer stick, I was addicted to you. It was like trying to give up heroin, trying to give up you.

It was a week from the day I decided it wouldn't work that I realised I couldn't live without you.

And now I know.

You're my oxygen.

And I'm dying from the lack of you.

----
It's 5.30am. In the bunk above Ray's I lay, with you opposite. I listen to the sighs and groans of deep sleepers, replenishing after a long day, a gruelling show. Everyone's asleep, all but you and I. I can hear your tired breaths, in, out, in, out.

Is it sad that I can tell when you're awake, when you're asleep and feel every emotion you feel? I'm so attuned to you.

After a while, your breathing changes. Now it is the deep sighing breaths of a sleeper. As I listen to your sleep-laced breathing, I imagine your sweet face as it was when you lay next to me, your jet black hair tickling my nose. You're beautiful. You were mine.

Mine no longer.

I sigh, and turn around in my bed, so I cannot see your back, but the cream of the wall of the bus.

Lying awake in bed, lonely and tiny, I stare at the not-so-white ceiling and let my thoughts drift as they please.

I think of us. Us, no longer, but I think of how we used to be.

I remember our first meeting.

I remember how I strutted into that ice- cream parlour, thinking I owned the world. How naïve I was. I remember the booth you sat in, the fourth down on the right.

I remember how you looked up from the book you were reading, your eyes bright bottle green, hand up to shield your eyes from the glaring sun.

I remember the look – well, glance, really, that you gave me.

Smiling sweetly, bedazzled by your beauty, I’d stumbled over, and I’d talked to you. I’d always been bold and daring.

You, surprisingly, didn’t look at me in horror and tell me to fuck off. That wouldn’t have been surprising, coming from a New Jersey kid.

Instead, you made me feel special. You offered me a seat, and ordered me a coffee. We talked for hours; instantly we clicked.

You told me about yourself; how you liked comic books, vampires and heavy metal, screamo and rock music; Iron Maiden in particular. You sang in a band and played a little guitar.

‘ Wow! Really?’ I’d cried enviously when you told me you’d been to three Iron Maiden shows. ‘ You’re so lucky!’

The smile you’d flashed at me, making me feel clumsy and awkward at your grace.

The way you’d insisted on driving me home, when we realised how late it was, how long we’d spent talking; stupid, I know, with practically a stranger…But since when was safety ever a priority for me?

The way you’d told me you’d like to keep in touch.

There was chemistry that night, for certain. That was one of the best days of my life.

Even to this day, I still go back to that certain booth in that certain ice-cream parlour in Belleville, New Jersey, when I want to relax, unwind, and just think of better times. Ironically, it was the one place where I could forget this trouble.

Demolition lovers, you said. That's what we were.