Last night, he asked me to write something for him. I tried, but the words deserted me like sand blown by the wind. I tried to picture his face, tried to imagine his eyes–how they change colors when the light hits: hazel then clear green. I tried to see his mouth, tried to imagine how it felt like to have his lips against mine–sometimes pressing light, tender kisses on my hair, my face, whispering words that all sound so warm and gentle even though at times I couldn’t understand why, how, this all came to be. I tried to catch the warmth of his body against mine, the way his arms would wrap around me, like the welcome embrace of a warm blanket in the coldest, harshest winter night, with a promise of safety and familiarity in this strange, desolate place that I suddenly found myself into. My body ached for his touch, my lips craved his–the aggressive way he claimed them in those stolen, passionate moments where nothing mattered but him, me, and the ragged breaths we shared. My mind tried to catch up with the dizzying array of colors and sights and sounds as memories of him flooded my entire being. I tried to tune in for the rumble of his laugh, even the lisps in his words, the foreign sounds that fascinated me. My fingers tried to trace the angles and curves of his face, his body, his mind, his heart. I tried to find the right words for him… but just like how I tried to stop myself from loving him… I failed.
Last night he asked me to write something for him. I tried, but the words deserted me for all I could think of was how he makes me feel. Like a moth drawn to the flame, I am pulled towards him, encouraged by the false promises of a future where we could be together. I feel myself submerged in a universe where nothing and everything existed. Every moment spent with him always ends up being the best, as if I had never lived until I met him. He brings me to a world where for a time I forget who I should be, and instead, just be me. And I tried to find the right words for him… but just like how I tried to stop myself from loving him… I failed.
Last night he asked me to write something for him. I tried, but the words deserted me for all I could think of was how my world crumbles slowly as our days together shed away, like leaves falling in autumn. Because for every laughter we share I know that tears are not far behind it, waiting to cascade like steady streams between the broken pieces of my heart. Like a man waiting for his final judgement, I lay i wait for that day when we part–for good– and venture into our separate futures, and how that crushes my soul dear god, how that kills me. It’s like dying a little everyday. Like silent torture, and the pain multiples as I spend more time in his arms. Oh how I wish I could stay in them longer. Forever. My heart yearns for him, like fish needs water, like man needs air. And I know that in whatever version of reality my soul would be in, he would always be that strange yet obdurate constant in a world of unknowns.
Last night he asked me to write something for him. And finally, in spite of the fears that held me back, in a mess of tangled limbs and rapid heartbeats, I whispered the words I have been looking for.
*raw draft: 25/5/18