I do not remember clearly the day I met him, nor the day I had fallen in love. It did not happen suddenly. No love at first sight. Not second, nor third. It blossomed the further we grew apart.
Losing myself in the memories of him has become a habit. The sweetest of drugs, the cheapest, the most dangerous. But it is ok. No one else will know, just like what he used to say...
In my daydreams I replay images of him.
Time is cruel, it tries to take him away, but I keep tugging hard. They say time brings reprieve. They say it heals the worst of heartaches. Yet I am still victorious. I am holding on to him.
Sometimes my memories are fuzzy. They resemble images from a slumbering world, with twirling shapes, blurry actors.
They speak with no sounds and act with no movement. They are expressionless, but fill me with emotion. I clap at the amazing performance, but they never bow.
They continue their incessant mime and now my hands hurt.
One of them is him. He does not sense me. I scream but he hears not. They continue their performance, they speak and interact, they hug each other.
She weeps. He smiles. He doesn't notice me, but she does.
Reality throws me a rope. Sometimes I am not sure I want to take it and be rescued from my fantasies.
Sometimes I would like to stay here a little longer, in the midst of my memories of him.
As I climb my way out, I see the computer screen, the job, the husband, the family that awaits me at the summit. I look back one last time.
I wave to him, hoping that he would finally notice, hoping that he would wave back.
He does not. He is still. Short hair swept to one side, shining ear stud and that half smile. He smiled like that for me once.
Feeling my arms losing strength, I let go of my grip and free fall towards him. The details of his face now becoming clearer and clearer.
His leonine green gaze piercing through my eyes. Undressing the deepest of my feelings bared naked in front of him. Finally.
The rope, secured around my waist, gives a strong pull, slashing through my insides as my gut is split in half.
Or did that happen when I first saw him with her? I do not recall.
Matters not. I lie and weep. A single tear makes her way to the tip of my nose. One of the many I shed for him. The last one... I promised.