I adored all the things he did that made me feel like he was strong. It wasn’t only in the things he did but from the air of confidence he brought with him everywhere. If he was strong, I could feel weak but safe. Being the strong one was over-rated and exhausting.
As I watched him working under the hood of the car I knew I was as going to miss him desperately. My body started to ache and I wanted to make me think of other things but I wasn’t able enough.
Laughter is a kind of sex and that meant we had sex down pat. He was the best at getting a laugh but moreso a smile from my usual poker face. His eyes never failed me, filled with reckless they constantly ignited my abandon. And every time he bit his lip while concentrating Id salivate at the idea he was biting down hard on my lip and I’d have to press my legs together to temper the heat in my lady bits. I wanted to live the dream where we kissed any time we wanted and I know all his shoes and shirts and he’d feed me breakfast. And I was there, damnit, I was there.
Things are fluently fleeting and neverlasting, and when he kept saying he wanted to be the best man that he could be it kept making me think that is sounds so judgmental, so difficult and everything I don’t want. We never run out of sins in all this breathing we do while dying. The struggle to be the best would take away the light and breeze from being the not best.
Im well aware that the heart and brain fight like little children. But they also know each other better than bread and butter. Sometimes what the heart can’t do the brain fills in and visa versa.
I’m made of stubborn softness and sea breezes with a touch of pink to lighten the space between. I’m getting to know my heart better and my minds getting to know life better and madness tastes like him.
As the madness began to grow and the sanity dispelled, I knew I was going to miss him more than my mind, but not more than my heart.
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