I dream of your kiss the most.
The taste of it (honey and light and good things), the feel of it (velvet and warm and slickness), the way it made me fall apart and the way it built me back up again – I dream of your kiss the most, all the never-ending hours that I spend sleeping.
Because when I dream, you are there.
Because when I awake, you are gone.
///
It should have been for a hundred years now, it should have been you and I, it should have been your hand on my back as I stood at the edge of neediness – looking out over the abyss, looking down at the darkness – it should be you holding me back.
But when I look around, you aren't there.
But when I close my eyes, you are everywhere.
///
I dream of your eyes the most.
The color of them (sky and ocean and springtime), the shape of them (sloping and subtle and perfect), the way you would stare at me and the way you would take me in – I dream of your eyes the most, all the minutes of all these days that I spend sleeping.
Because when I dream, you are mine.
Because when I awake, you belong to no one.
///
It should have been the two of us against the world, it should have been our anniversaries and our home and our children, it should have been your words ringing out in my mind as I stand transfixed – frozen with longing and with fear – it should be you talking me down again.
But when I listen closely, you are so quiet.
But when I cover my ears, you are so loud.
///
I dream of you the most.
The way you walk (with purpose and with humor), the way you smile (wide and innocent), the way you touch me (hesitant and heavy), the curves of your body (a road, a map, a tender place), the smell of you (vanilla and cinnamon and bluebells and desire) – I dream of you, all the time and all the days and all the nights and all the time… all the time… all the time…
Because when I dream, you are alive.
Because when I awake, you are dead.
And it should have been me, it should have been anyone else, it should have been anyone but you – anyone but you on the ground, bleeding and dying and gasping for air.
It should have been anyone other than you, rolling into bright lights and barely able to hear the sobbing and growing cold with every second…
It should have been someone else, karma be damned, it should not have been you who died on a metal slab – far from Ohio and childhood haunts and summers to come and far from love – it should not have been you…
But when the gunshots cease, it is you I can't find.
But when the scene replays over and over in my head, it is you I save.
Because when I think of love, I think of you.
Because when I think of you, I think of my world ending.
///
END