The word I couldn't say

He made so many mistakes but every time I looked into those big brown eyes I forgave him all over again.


60. True loves never dies.

Two days ago, I wanted to call you, but I didn’t. Someone asked what I would say if I did, I guess this is what I would say.

“Hey, how are you? I hope you’re doing well. How is your family? How are you and the new girl? Do you still cry? I bet you do. Does it still hurt? I know I do. Did you smile today? I think I did. Did you sleep well? I didn’t.”

And it would be short and filled with my long sighs and things that I would never say;

as if each sigh was a chapter that you skimmed through because you loved to read books that had a piece of you in every line, as if each love letter I’ve ever written was that gasp from deep within my chest trying to touch your cheeks, and as if each poem that I’ve created from your image could swallow the small memories and fine details that you’ve left inside of me.

And I would tell you that I miss you. Like it’s not the same sleeping on this bed, this bed that knows your body better than I knew my pillows. The smell from your washed hair is no longer here, I figured it out. I took hoodie that you left at my place, they say that’s how boys mark their territory. It smell like you. I finally understand, the little details of the past will only haunt if I let it. And I would tell you that I missed you. The blanket makes room for two, but it’s only me. I guess even fabric gets confused about us too.

And I would tell you that I love you. Like it’s not the same when I’m at home without you. Because I made a home out of a person when I should have made a home out of me. Out of my own arms, out of my own smile and out of my own heart. Your love doesn’t know how to leave my maze and I have lab rats inside the cracks of my heart trying to figure out the exact same thing. Like how love was made out of something pure, but soon learned how to be something lethal, a shade of a deadly plant and a kiss from laced lips; there’s not much of a difference, we make poison just for us. I guess even my tongue tries to spell your name.

And I would tell you that I couldn’t use love in a past tense because every day still feels like a present moment to me, it’s just a moment without you. And I have to live with that.

I guess even my hands look for you underneath this blanket, even my eyes look for you in the mirror, even my lips tend to remember mouthing your name, even my legs try to run towards you and even I have a hard time trying to control myself when you’re not around.

I guess, that’s probably a good thing.

It’s a good thing that you’re not around.

​But then again I'm a total fuck when you aren't there to save me when i can't save myself or keep me close because even when we don't have the thing we had before we still had something that no one may see and only we can feel. And I actually believe that, that's real love.

And from all the artist, musician og writers says; 

"True love never dies"

So I guess that you and me are forever.

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