| That Particular Time |
| It is hard to describe the way that I am feeling right this moment. I can smell very familiar smells of times before. My duvet, it smells exactly the same as it did when I was going through a very particular time in my life, and if I walk out of my bedroom and back in again, it has the same scent it did that particular time in my life a few years ago. I feel as though I want to call up all the old friends that I knew at that time, and I want to listen to all the songs that I listened to those few years ago. I feel as though I want to write a heartfelt poem like those I used to write at that time. No one is in the house, the house is empty and I feel my heart is feeling a little vulnerable. My mind drifts back to the relationships I had at that time. I think of one in particular, I think of him. He is that particular time. I so badly want to be in that part of my life again, smelling the smells and hearing the songs isn't enough, I want to grab hold of the moment, I want to feel it in my fingers. But if I do I know that I will also feel it slip away again and I know the pain that follows; The endless nights where I cry myself to sleep and cold, wintry evenings where I wander the streets aimlessly looking for something, someone to help me. I think to myself, 'Do I really want to go through all that again?' and the answer every time is the answer I always fear; 'yes'. I want to know why I so desperately want to feel that pain, why I want to feel that rejection, why I want to be constantly wondering where he is and what he is doing, but then I remember how it feels to be loved by him. When I slip into these moments, I think it is because I feel his love for me still. No one else understands why I put up with the sleepless nights, the lies, and the 'heroin addict' but then, he never loved them, he never made them feel the way he made me feel. He never cuddled up close to them at nighttime and told them that he loved them, told them that he needed them. he never looked at them with bloodshot eyes and hollow cheeks and begged them to take away the needle marks on his arms, so how could they ever understand? They couldn't comprehend why it hurt so much to be second best next to an inanimate object, they would never understand why it hurt so much to walk away, to leave him standing there in the street with his arms outstretched, his tear stained face screaming 'Please, please don't go, i can't live without you!' They don't know how it feels to turn their back like that; they don't know how it feels to ignore his calls, his letters filled with desperation and sorrow. They don't know how it feels to reject someone they love with their whole heart simply 'because it is for the best.' |