My skin still reacts when I think of you.

Sitting next to you, looking at you, speaking to you, hugging you. I could entertain myself with the idea of you forever, needing nothing but my mind to trace out the shape of your smile. I could even smell you on my clothes when we were apart. There was no need to conjure any affinities between you and I, because I was obsessed with you enough for the both of us. You were gravity, the focal point. Falling into it, meant falling into you. I used to revel in the feeling that you gave me. It felt like sitting in the sun on a spring day. Like balsam to the cracks I had endured from previous loves. Although apprehensive from the beginning, I let you heal me.

I think the reason I was so attached to you was because of the way your mind worked in parallel to mine. It was unnerving the way we could speak without speaking. say without saying. That was my mistake. I said without saying, so what I had said can be moderated, considered and made to fit a mould, and that made it easier for you to hide under the pretext that I never said anything explicitly.

I’m sure I told you a thousand and one times through the way I looked at you, the way I beamed that one day when you walked behind me and I could feel your eyes on me, suspending me in the air. The way I spoke. I would have went to any lengths to be. To be with you, to become a single entity with you, to orbit your energy with mine, as if I were Venus and you the sun.

Oh God, how I wanted us to be. and it still breaks me how we descended from us, if there was even an us to begin with. I started putting distance between you and I when I saw my best friend fall for you. I could trace her feelings with mine. And they were identical. She deserved you way more than I did. So I began to let go (subconsciously, I wanted you to reach out and say “ I see what you’re doing. Stop it.” Then press rewind and resume from a time you and I were by ourselves, and rewrite the movie again. and again, and again.). But you being you, and our minds being so alike, you reclined, further and faster than I did, in a way that you would rip off a bandage: abrupt and all at once. I remember leaving your seat open, right next to me, pleading for you to come home. to make me glow again. The indifference cut through me as you sat somewhere else. I didn’t exist anymore to you. Venus fell into oblivion, and the sun went on shining as if Venus had never existed, nor had it orbited the sun, and watched parts of itself beam from its light.

This continued. Unbearably so. You told my friends that you missed me. Why couldn’t you tell me? I was still waiting for you. My arms cast in plaster and desperation. Wide-open. Ready to welcome you home. It’s okay, we all get lost sometimes. I don’t blame you.

I kept your seat in my soul open by playing your favourite songs, and watching the moon, because I knew you were watching it too. I missed you so much, my bones ached. Not with pain, but memory. So when I said to you that I was still in the same place where you had left me, that was me lighting myself as the fuse to you, in the hopes that you would combust and we would sit on the apex of our journey and find comfort in the ruins of us.

We did exactly what I thought we wouldn’t: we faded. Not as romantically and slowly as the word suggests, but like the shrine I built to commemorate us disintegrated in front of my very eyes. And now I have nothing but memories and hypothetical situations where you would come back to keep me from drowning. I decompose everyday on the doorstep, waiting for you. With my feet burrowed into the decaying wood.