In another universe, tonight, I made you pancakes, and you laughed in-between kisses
When I read people write about a love that got away, their tone embodies regret. Regret for the things they said or didn’t say, and this constant wishing and nagging at their soul to turn back time. I did not subscribe to using words to immortalize a loved one in such a desperate way until now.
I’m not hinged by pride or self-respect, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I do not know how to manage emotions in bits. I do not feel things mildly or in little doses; either the flood gates open or they remain shut. With me, there are no in-betweens, so I wonder, what part of “I don’t want you out of my life” wasn’t clear enough?
I do not hate you; I cannot. I want to be mad, pissed, and throw my fist at the wall, but there’s no one to be angry at. It’s just me, my mistakes, and your absence. It’s one thing to miss someone, and it’s impossible to talk to them; it’s a divine pain to miss someone alive but unavailable to you.
Sometimes I wonder if you think of me too, or if our story is an immemorable pastime in your world of pastel colors. Also, do things remind you of me? Do you hear a song, a word, or see something and think of me? Or have you shut the door of what we used to be for the search of something else.
Every day is a fight between running after you or letting you breathe. I want to tell you how much you mean to me. I want to tell you how you’re the only one I want to know about my day, and tweeting about things happening to me sucks. In addition to that, I want to tell you my stories don’t slap as they used to because you are my muse. Also, my plant died; I forgot to water it for days.
In another universe, tonight, I made you pancakes, and you laughed in between kisses. I put on your Chocolate Cookies scented candles and wash your hair as we tell ourselves stories about our day. You tell me about work and the colleague who bothers you when you are busy. I tell you, I’ll beat him up if he is not careful. We laugh, but yours blooms like daffodils in early spring.
If we are honest, I want you to do what makes you happy, but I also want you to be happy with me. I want to hear your voice say my name. When someone asks what it means to lose someone, I’ll tell them I don’t know. To answer that question is to admit that I had the world, and I let it go.
In another universe, I’ll listen to you sing songs that make my belly flutter with joy and life. In that same universe, we are together, laughing. I tell you you’re beautiful, and you say, “why, thank you.”
If you loved this, then I think you’d love my short stories collection titled “7 Letters to Ruby. You can download it here
