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Darling, we were ecstasy


I saw you today, at the end of the lecture hall. I felt the same familiar ache fill my chest. I was thankful, at least it didn’t feel hollow the way I did when you left. I felt nothing this time, I found the urge to go up to you and tell you that, but god was I too weak. I was reminded of those sad eyes telling me everything was fine, and those eyes filling with honest lies. I thought of you every day since but now I picture myself in a new kind of fantasy. I find myself in the arms of someone else and dancing the night away to the music of melancholic nostalgia.
Time, I thought, had a way of letting us know that we care too much and love too hard. It wasn’t you it was me, I was dying to say, no matter how much of a cliché it was, how could I love you more than I loved myself? How could I let you in when I had so many barriers obstructing my feelings? I knew you understood when I told you, you knew this was coming but you wanted to believe we could make it work, and for some time I did too, but well it devastated me when I realized otherwise. But I’m happy now knowing that what we had was special and significant and something I would cherish for all eternity.
 Our love was so strong, that I still immortalize you in my writing and still think about you when I compose poetry and when I cannot sleep. I remember the way you used to lie down with me when I told you I was tired. You knew when I said I was tired, I was just numb from all the sensations coming at me like tsunamis, drowning me and choking me slowly. You knew, and you made us a raft and got me though. The storm always had an eye on you, the voyager who conquered the rage of the sea. Poseidon shivered as you instructed him to control his waves so I could lie on the shore unaffected and untouched by misery or fear. I will always be grateful but now I refuse to be a fool. I refuse to be that person running around the city in search of the right match.
 Relationships aren’t supposed to be magic, if it was it would just be a cruel practical joke. One second it’s there and the next you watch it disappear.  Love isn’t meant to be electric unless you want your love to burn to ashes. Love isn’t supposed to be a phoenix; once it is dead it’s also gone. Let the wind blow away the ashes and watch the rain clear the way. Or you could cry oceans and find the lover who could tame your storm.
Language too, among other things, has a way of telling us that love ends and that marks the beginning of new beginnings. Without the letter “L”, you and your “lover” are “over".

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