ph: heddaselder
our pen & ink romance, strung out along years and days and dreams, so hopelessly one-sided. a delicate web held together by poignant moments of reciprocity tenuous and delicious, a walk through the field reminds me of your sweet face soft voice and strong wire frame. what i have left is something missing. a box of old letters, almost no photographs, one collection of songs, and the memory of one weekend spent with you in the frosty barn in November, watching the universe spin above our heads through the skylight window. trampling fields of dry soybeans, my hand warm in your pocket, in ecstasy, and curling together to keep our heat from escaping. holding onto evasive moments of bliss that seep away as quickly as the warmth left my skin after we made love in the icy november night air. you were my lover, but you never loved me.
i'm happier without you. more focused. less tortured. but i can not forget the feeling of your fingertips trailing the length of my spine, the aquiline curve of your roman nose, the seriousness of those eyes, never quite the same color, or your stony silence. a creeping divide wedging me away from you. i wanted you to be a part of my world, only for a moment, but we were always together on borrowed time. i obliterated myself in my work for a year, trying not to think of you, but even though i obliterated myself, i've never been able to obliterate you. i want to no longer long for you. what i long for now is your eternal absence. i'd like to never again think of your name, your face, your beautiful hands. and i never want to see you again. ever.
