As some of you may recall, I had my heart shattered into a million pieces nearly seven months ago. Over time, I have glued myself back together – with a bit of help. Two months ago, I reflected on my memories – the ones that were slipping away. For this Wicked Wednesday, I’m re-posting it.
I can feel the sadness as I read my words. I’m no longer haunted by memories. I’m no longer haunted by sadness. I can only imagine that this is what healing looks and feels like. But, before there was healing, there were memories…
You’re slipping away from me.
Yes, you walked away months ago, but I thought could hold onto memories and moments, scents and remembered touches. All of those are starting to slip away. The hurt feels fresh each time I realize I’ve lost another piece of you.
I don’t remember the smell of your cologne anymore. I may remember the type until the day I die, but I can’t smell it when I close my eyes anymore.
I don’t remember the way your hands felt on my body. You were imprinted on me, on my flesh, in my soul at one time. I’m losing that part of us.
I remember the sparkle of your blue eyes. I remember how the sound of your voice made my body quiver. I remember so much, but you’re still slipping away.
I don’t remember every detail of your voice anymore. I remember your words, your favorite expressions, the accents you could do with ease. I remember the night of your Irish lilt and the way your voice made me cum. But I don’t remember the timbre anymore. I don’t remember the tone. You’re slipping away.
As each little detail leaves, I lose you all over again. The pain feels fresh each time. I feel myself trying to recreate the walls around me that are slowly weakening. I’m tired of hurting, but I hate losing you in this new way.
I know that time marches on. I know that this is inevitable. I feel like a traitor because I can’t seem to hold on. I worry that I’m weak because I’m willing to find small bits of happiness even though they don’t match what I had with you.
You were imprinted on my heart from the moment I met you and each time another piece pulls away, a wound opens back up. I bleed and staunch the wound so no one notices it. I feel like a traitor to the people who have grown to care for me. Why do I hang on to you so tightly when there are others who want to love me – or at least like me – a little?
You’re slipping away from all over again, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Original post – with original comments.