Her

I won’t close my eyes until I can be absolutely sure of convincing myself this moment is forever. I felt euphoria tremble through my entire body and my fingertips traced along her spine. I reminded myself to breathe. I lay back down into the sheets and hopelessly melted into the covers unable to so much as speak. Confused, our eyes met and I pulled her onto me. In that second, knowing this moment could be the last either of us had I let a tiny tear leak from my left eye and let her delicately kiss my cheek encapsulating my tear with her lips. I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her if this was it for us, I would die. I wanted to tell her how my entire life had been waiting for her. I stayed silent.

I’ve barely known her a few months yet it somehow forces me to wonder how I was ever able to survive before these days. Making sense of things in literature will always be the most conveniently beautiful way to portray the most intense and abstract emotions yet somehow never actually feeling worthy of her. Sometimes I feel I must me honest to a fault because sometimes the suppression of emotion is the most powerful way to exhibit strength. Yet words are all I have.

She came to me; rather I came to her, in my weakest and most vulnerable state, and her in hers too. To think I was looking to fix her relationship with one of my closest friends at the time, I am wrong, I am always wrong yet for some reason I can’t leave it alone.

There was a twisted voice inside me that told me that I’d had my one chance at true love which I must have been responsible for the disintegration of, such a voice that made suicidal thoughts more common than laughter. Somehow I doubt my impossible recovery could’ve been so swift if it wasn’t for that one girl.

I’ll try now, hopelessly, incredulously, prudently to describe her from our first meeting just under a year ago. I remember her soft accent and the delicate way words seemed to bounce from her tongue, her smile, my absolute favourite smile, one I longed to make happen from my own attempts. She has long blonde beautiful hair, the kind that looked as if it was made of silk, something I felt I could’ve disappeared into. Something I would’ve been indebted to spend the entirety of my life absorbed in. That was her full stop.

She had eyes I could melt into, eyes that in fact I would, again and again, each time allowing her to take more of me with her, forgetting my strongest crippling fear and giving into her. Giving into my head, into my heart for what I promised would be the last time, and the only time that I swore it must last, because it had to. The moment my heart breaks again, I swore I would to.

For all I knew, all I knew now and all I would ever know, was that I would forever be on the very edge, and this was probably just an example of more I was unable to handle yet took right away. I needed it so I took it. I needed her.

“I’m sorry” I sniffled pulling her close. She rolled over to face me and smiled that Hollywood smile and shook her head. Her lips finally kissed mine with such curiosity and my tears stopped.

I could never consider I could be presented with such a perfect moment again. Another shot at love. My final shot. And how I loved her.