Still With You
I remember the first time I looked at you.
You were acting macho, the strong and silent type of course. A bit cliché, but as I look back I can recognize why I liked it.
Why I still like it. Like you.
Perhaps even more than just like. Is it even possible to tell if that particular emotion is ever quite more that just that. You probably understand it just as little as I do, as any of us do. But we make that assumption anyways, don't we? We're always identifying our emotions for one another by comparing it to other situations and other feelings, and I'm no different. I thought I felt something for you that we might call love, I still do, and often in more ways that just one.
But so what? In act, maybe I'll be able to look back upon what once was and laugh at what was left in it's shadow. Me. Broken. It isn't any different this time than it was all those other times.
Funny, because I thought it would be different.
Believed that it would be different with you. That for once in my life I'd not only be able to identify my emotions, but yours as well. And I did. I did identify it, but it was only an assumption. My assumption was wrong and even with you gone forever, it still cuts and my heart—and worse—it's constantly chewing on the sanity that I've worked so hard to retain.
However I suppose that feelings can do that to a person. Sink into the depths of the soul, worm though mental stability, infecting every rational thought until nothing but sheer insanity and its best friend remain: passion. Oh the passion. Wiring throughout the body, the mind and most importantly, the heart.
And on all those gloomy days I think about you and all the things we did together. The tragic part about it is that, in a twisted-fate sort of way, it comforts me and reminded me of the times that my smile was like a non-fiction book. True, factual and to the point.
Despite all of this, all these feelings of betrayal and hatred and the worthlessness that combed my heart years after you left, I really can look back and realize that you never did steal anything from me at all. You didn't steal my mind, my body or my love. That was all given to you. But even though I gave it to you of my own free will I still feel something that I know is real. Something that I can identify myself and know that it is the whole and honest truth.
I've lost the most precious thing to lose. My heart and soul.
Because most of it...
Is still with you.