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There will always be another person with bright eyes and a charming smile, another needle that pierces our skin to leave permanent traces behind, another sharp-edged piece of furniture we walk into. Pain is never telling you how much I truly think about you. Or wishing we had those warm summer nights forever, laughing until five in the morning as we roam the quiet city streets alone. Pain is having so many words to say, but not enough lines on a paper to write it. You are alone, you deserve to be alone, you will always be alone.
And when it does, I would hold the side of your face because close is never close enough and I want nothing more than to be close to you. Are you afraid? How to stop worrying you will realize how horribly ordinary I am compared to your glory. My eternal pain. I love my parents more than anyone in the world, but you are the only person I would listen to if you asked me to stay.
I thought that in order to experience the world, I had to travel to every corner of it. I had to go down under and face the wrath of the giant spiders and kangaroos all over Australia.
Spend a couple summers in Northern Africa, in the intense heat that might make me miss the wintery Christmases back home in the North East. Not really, anyways. Love was settling down with someone because it was time and we could work together to build a home of common interests. We could tolerate each other to build a routine of watching movies in the evening with red wine and spaghetti.
What existed was reality and the reality was in a world of seven billion people, soulmates just simply cannot exist. It was soft, it was short, it was sweet.
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It was over before I could really process what was happening. I thought I would never forget the feeling of your lips on mine. I began to forget the sound of your voice, much less how soft your lips were. Are they still that soft? Do you still close your eyes when you lean in, with your hands pressed against your side?