Everytime you make your way into my head again I wonder if you still think of me too. The days I curled up in my bed in the afternoon with tears streaming down my face, the long minutes I stared at my phone, my heart at the bottom of a pit, wondering what you were feeling; I can ignore all those. Even the beauty of the staircase hours, it's easy to dismiss those. But how about the beginning, the very start of it all - the magic of the stage and the airport, sneaking into places at night, you and the way you looked at me. Your stupid laugh. Your quiet smile.
And a little further back, the last chapters of the book; the way you recounted your childhood story, your value pack of Mars bars, the magic of day three when you held on so tight, worried on day three that you might lose me. That smile as you used one hand to drag my chair towards yours and held my hand with the other. You helping me to adjust the collar of my top. Asking me to sing you that song. "You're sweet as heaven". Your quiet, sincere truths. "It's our stop, but I don't want to leave. I wanna stay here", you pulling me into a tighter hug. The love told in sentences without the word, told so simply, all raw. The times you didn't smile.
I'm on my way to emotionally distancing myself from the beauty. Someday I'll be able to look back at all the magic without any feeling of longing or pain. I know it was nothing firmly grounded; nothing but whimsical infatuation, but it was so huge. So huge. All the heartache, all the tears, walking around like a zombie for weeks, empty
At least I know magic now. I know how beautiful things can become. I will continue to wait for a moment as magical, a moment as strong. One less riddled with searing pain, more rooted in something strong.
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