I’ve always had a terrible weakness for beautiful but sad things.
I gave her every piece of me that I was afraid to love.. Allowed her access to the darkest, most desolate corners of my soul with no inhibition, no restriction, no holding back… and she loved me anyway. Not just a portion of me, not just a part of me, but she loved all of me. The highs and the lows, the queen and the pauper. The happiest I’ve ever been was completely isolated and emotionally alone, left only with the idea that she loved me anyway.
And even when she’s gone, even when she’s moved on, even when all the signs point to a never again… I smile thinking about how her eyes still light up when she sees me and how my heart skips a beat every time I hear her voice. I laugh at the thought that if I call her right now, she’ll pick up and we’ll talk for hours and hours on end until our cheeks hurt from smiling so hard and our chest are tight, feeling like at any moment our hearts will burst forth from our chest and we’ll embrace, in a bloody mess happy just to hold each other.