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To the boy who bit my hair off

We talked again the other day, just like we used to do way back when. Long hours of talking about this and that, about everything and nothing. And I wanted to reach across the screen and touch your face like I used to, and trace the corners of your smile. And it hurt…

For an instant I wished things had been different. I wished that the agape love that we’d hoped for, would somehow appear. I wished that our simple love would have turned into that passionate love that we are still waiting for.

Mais non! You let go too soon, and I held on too long. And now we both hope to find that love with someone else. We hope that the right one is still out there, just a little further in the distance waiting to be found, waiting to be loved. And hoping that the love that we let go of, somehow wasn’t the love that we were destined for. Hoping that there is more love in store for us than we ever dream of, more joy, more happiness, more eros and storge, more phileo and agape.

So now I wait for him, the one that will never let go of me. And I hope you find her too, the right one for you. Because now I know that the perfect one is not always the right one. And you were perfect for me, and maybe I was perfect for you too in some ways. But we were not right for each other. Because someone can be so perfect for you, and still not the one for you. Strange. Or not. I don’t know.

There were things we left unsaid. But then they couldn’t be uttered, could they? The words that could wound and hurt, the accusations, the unkept promises, the hopes that died in seed, the sadness and the pain. The way you broke my heart, shattered it into a zillion fragments, the way you said ours was a simple love, and that I would soon forget you. That phrase you repeated, ‘loin des yeux, loin du coeur’. No, I don’t believe it. Never will.

Maybe I will forget the feel of your touch, and the kiss of your lips, but I will always remember your smile, and your beautiful brown eyes. How looking at you always made me happy. How you always felt like home to me.

And I will never forget those last days together, that day when you bit off that lock of my hair. You say you don’t know why you did it? Was it because you had to hold on to a piece of me? Do you have it still? I wonder.

I don’t have anything to hold on to except memories and letters and postcards. And while I let go of the dreams I had of our life together, of that cabin that you wanted to build me on that mountain, of waking up with you every morning to see the sunrise in the distance, of ever seeing you again; I will never let go of your memory, of what you were to me, and of what we could have been if you only had the courage to believe.

And maybe one day when we’re old and grey, we will meet again, from across the continents and across time. We will meet on that mountaintop, because you my love cannot stand airports and cafe, you cannot stand crowds and cities. Just like me. But I adapted, and you didn’t. I had to accept my fate, you were strong enough to live alone.

And one day we will reminisce of what could have been. And you will hold my hand and kiss my cheek one last time before we go back home to the ones we now call our loves, to the ones we now call beloved. And that single tear that runs down a cheek will hold a lifetime of unspoken.

Mon coeur, comme tu dis, I let you…

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