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I saw you standing at the entrance to the café. You were mesmerising. The rain caught the tip of your nose like a kiss; carefully planted there so it would never leave.

You always did smile in rain. “it feels nicer than the sun”

You feel nicer than the sun. You always did. And I know what you meant about rain and how it feels. When you cried on me that night you’re mother died I could feel your body exhale. And I felt the wet tears on my forearm and the damp t shirt sticking to me felt like your sadness falling out of you, like when you fall on a rollercoaster. That awful lurching feeling like you’ve lost all your insides to the sky. I also felt close. Close to what you were before and after you lost what you had. I think I felt you crack a little. I’ve never felt that way. Even when your smile radiates an almost heat, I’ve never felt the way I did when you cracked onto my body. I felt close and comforted, in a perverse and ugly way. I wish I hadn’t. I was all you needed, and that was all I wanted.

Duvet fight 

One day, when I am older and more mature, I will look back on this and laugh. That is the main idea at least. There was beer and laughing and music and this electricity in the air like I’d never felt before – who knew a touch could linger for minutes after…new conversations washing over you like a wave as you’re drenched in butterflies and thoughts of what’s to come. I remember that feeling; the feeling of being so young that it didn’t matter, but old enough to care. I knew how I felt and I knew that nobody could take that away from me. ‘us against the world, no one can stop us’ little did I know, it wasn’t the world that wanted us to stop turning by ourselves. And, bit by bit, we all lose ourselves to ‘why didn’t it stay that way’ and ‘what could I have done?’, the truth being you could have bought her the world and never would have won. There is truth in journeys ending when lovers meet – love is the be all and end all of life as you know it. When you wake up in the morning with that glowing buzz of nerves and headiness that you’ve never quite felt before, you turn over to the other side of the bed, ready for the thud. No one. There. Except there is, and there will be for months to come, and just like a train dragging itself up the steepest of hills – ‘I think I can, I think I can’, once the peak of the mountain is reached, the smiles and laughter have started to fade and you start to look upon eachother with a feeling that can only be described as resent, and the pummelling feeling love takes on you as it drags you downwards back to the other side of where you started – you know, the side where the train changes its tune to ‘I thought I could’.  Months go past, you daren’t go near the otherside of your bed from fear you might actually remember how much you hate sleeping alone. Nothing. Because she’s glowing elsewhere and her hair is being stroked by another soft hand, probably softer than yours and yes, it feels better that way. You are forced to live life as if it had never happened, but every waking second you think about the past you feel as if the sun as taken a vacation to the other side of the world. It consumes you, it eats and niggles and fucks you up. And just when you start getting up that hill, ‘it wasn’t working anyway’, and ‘she’s not worth it’, suddenly reality hits you like the son of a bitch that it is. You cry and you scream and you wish that you had never left your mothers insides. You wrap yourself up in a duvet that never quite knows how warm or cold you are, and never quite manages to twist its way comfortably around you. You sweat and you cry and you scream. But you’re alive. And each day, despite you knowing it, you forget how that glow felt and you forget how when she touched you there, you felt it everywhere. You don’t know you’re doing it, but you are piecing yourself back together.

Now, I’m not one to judge, and I’m not one to preach. I have felt all of these things, much stronger than I could ever hope they would come out on paper. I have slept on my tears and I have screamed at my duvet for not knowing how warm or cold I am. I have answered the phone every time in the hope that it is her. And I would like to tell you that it’s working and that I’m done, but the truth is I think I am still piecing myself back together. I will let you know how it goes. In honesty, do not fall in love. Because you will eventually have to climb back out of the deepest of holes, which you unwittingly dug yourself months ago. I am a hopeless romantic; romance leaves me hopeless. 

I wrote a poem, once.

I wrote a poem once. It went on to say how perfect you were, and how I couldn’t breathe without you. Life went on, somehow I worked out a way to work out alone.  When I close my eyes it feels like home again. With or without you. I run and I scream and I cry and I laugh. I smile. Because it happened, and because i’m still here. I was the sun trapped behind the stars. You still shine the brightest, and i hate that. others shine too, now. This is a change i am willing to take, one of few.  I see planets and comets and the moon dancing with the water in puddles I splash through. 

I wrote a poem once. It began with ‘if you were a melody..’, it ended with ‘you’d be the one that beats my heart’, and you’re still there, though I try to block this out. I wrote a poem once. It went on to say how perfect you were, and how I couldn’t breathe without you. I gave it to you and I know you’ve lost it – along with that irrevocable memory that I fall asleep to every night. The night I came to your window at 5am, and you felt perfect to me in every way. I put you in my pocket and took you everywhere.  I wrote a poem once, this is yet another, but this one is different. It goes on to say how perfect are, but love is blind, and has no eyes to see. If you were a melody, I’d try not to listen.