| .fallen.angel. -february 2000- you don't talk to me anymore. the words bubble to the surface. i am no longer able to restrain them. there is no semblance of sanity within as long as this empty tension still lingers in the air. there are so many things i want to tell you: you won't let me, sealing my lips with an unseen hand. you don't want me to say this. no one wants to be the accused. my hands are empty now, but i can still see my chipped sapphire blue fingernails as you kissed them. the love that disappeared from my life has become a vacuum. much of what was beautiful has been swallowed up in your absence. i struggle to find meaning in things that held such gravity when i was with you. this is the cliche: "i am nothing without you." but what am i saying: my identity is gone because i no longer belong to you? this is my role now: the unrequited lover. it's too easy to wallow in self-pity, but it is the only warmth i can derive from the few embers that are left. love no longer warms me, so i must find some other measure of comfort. am i weak because i hate being without you, or am i merely human? you used to tell me to share my problems with you, now i struggle under burdens that never fazed your broad shoulders. what would you say if i told you that you are the only boy i have ever cried in front of before? i never trusted anyone to look into my eyes. they make me transparent as glass. every emotion flits across my eyes, easily recorded by anyone who cares to look. you loved my hair, wrapped your fingers in its delicate blondness. the thought of cutting the strands you once stroked so gently hurts too much to think of, so i keep it tightly bound from my face, a whisper of a memory as faint as the imagined cologne that still clings to my skin. i adored your hair. i held its bleached gold as a metaphor for the light that flowed from you. i tasted sheer happiness for the first time in my life from your lips. you will be my last adolescent love, the last boy i ever get sweaty palms over. i wrote your name in the margins of my math notebooks, inked your name on my ankle. echoes of girlish laughter used to follow your name. every boy that i meet is a small part of you. there are tiny pieces of you everywhere. this boy has your eyes. he has your smile. i collect their faces and images, hoping to make a whole. but he will never be you. let me say this one last time. i love you. love, the loaded weapon. i throw down my armor one last time to tell you this. you once called me angel. i never thought i could fall from such heights. *me .back. |