I remember 3 AM trips to the store,
we walked past abandoned streets and I shivered against the wind.
You were smiling, wrapping your arms around me
and saying things like
“Only you.”
I think you knew it made me happy.

But happiness has always been
    overrated.
Much like the always lingering scent of cigarette smoke
on your breath
and clothes. I think you’ve been smoking for so long that somehow
it’s infused itself within you.
I wonder if it is specifically to kill me.
But then,
that’s not your style.

Sometimes I think the world should stop
when you are crying. Those awful sounds should never pour from you,
and yet they seem to be doing just that
a lot lately.
I can only hope I am always the one to kiss those tear stained lips.

I remember the smiles and the giggles
“Let’s get married and have
twelve kids.” Ok, without the kids.

I think a lot of the jokes were just to keep me laughing;
you always said I never did it enough.
There were moments that I wanted to say
“Well, baby, that’s your fault”
but I refrained. Much like the way I refrained from telling her I hated her so,
though somehow her apologies
just didn’t carry the same weight as yours.
I don’t forgive you either.
No worries, though, I’m not just giving you the time of day
for the hell of it.
It’s just that “I’m sorry” doesn’t quite cut it.

I remember the times I cursed your name
and crossed my fingers when I said “I love you too”
even though it was always true.
I think the motivating factor was the “too”.

I guess he was right when he said that sometimes it’s better not to think at all.

I remember when I carefully placed your pictures in photo albums
and held them close to me
while I was at least
2,000 miles away.
I wish I could say I never would have guessed what you were doing
but it rested in the back of my thoughts.
To this day I wonder if you’ll still be there
when I go looking.

I still have the photos,
and they’re still nicely organized. It’s hard to believe I started this
almost two years ago.
I guess I cared even then.

I remember why I was scared in the first place,
but also why I felt safe with you.
Why you ran,
and that you always came back.
I remember that I hated you, and how much
I truly fucking love you.

I’ve never understood the reasoning for someone to “move on” from a relationship.
It’s not like you are going to really “move on”,
you are just trying to tell your heart to stop thinking about that person
every second of every minute of every day
until it finally becomes routine and you don’t notice it anymore.
That is, until you see that person again,
with someone who isn’t you,
and you remind yourself again.