Present day
Maybe it’s wrong how much I live inside my head with you. Maybe it’s wrong that I’ve built a whole life there - one no one else can see.
A life where mornings aren’t empty, where coffee isn’t just coffee but the warmth of you pressed against me.
A life where I could pull you closer, trace the lines of your skin, remind you over and over what it feels like to be chosen.
I envisioned us in those ordinary moments - laughing at nothing, moving through the chaotic daily living - together. As if the world had finally made sense. I created a universe where connection wasn’t fragile, where it grew like something destined… unstoppable.
And maybe I only dared to dream it because I was given glimpses. Bits and pieces. A taste of what it could be. Enough to know it was real… but never enough to keep it.
Time remains suspended - caught somewhere between what was supposed to be us and what was only imagined. It hangs in the air like a held breath… like a song stuck on the same note… refusing to resolve.
The past month has been a state of delirium… but part of me is still there - in that pause between your glance and your silence… in that place where your hand almost reached for mine.
I argue with myself a lot. Believing wholeheartedly in the Universe… the divine. Because what I feel is so consuming, it pulls me into the ether and leaves me swirling. You don’t leave my head - not for a second, not in the quiet… not in the noise.And in that endless loop I start questioning - Maybe we’re not just soulmates. Maybe this wasn’t divine intervention. It’s in the knowing that it wasn’t chance.
No… this was will. I willed this into existence.
I knit the threads of fate until they spelled your name.
I didn’t stumble.
I didn’t fall blindly.
I chose you.
I love you intentionally.
I love you with every fragment of consciousness I was born with.
With every breath that doesn’t know another direction but toward you.
Time is moving forward…
but my heart never will.
February 2024
I enjoyed doing the mundane things with you. The things no one ever writes about. Going to the laundromat, sitting across from each other as machines hummed, watching clothes tumble while we laughed at nothing. Working on shared projects. It was never about what we were doing - it was that I was doing it with you.
I told you one night I couldn’t just live as a single memory - it couldn’t be a “one night” in the truest sense. I needed more, needed you, needed that closeness again. And I felt selfish. My soul ached for yours… even as I knew the weight you were holding, the storms you lived inside. I told myself not to want, not to reach, but desire doesn’t listen to reason. It kept clawing anyway. When you hinted that doing a complete 180 was well within your capacity, and you wanted us to cross that line again… my mind spun, every thought reeling into anticipation.
The sun was slipping below the horizon when I arrived at your place. You said to come in, that the door would be open. Inside, the faint buzz of a phone conversation filling the air. You gestured to the familiar box of wine I’d grown fond of, pouring us each a glass as I watched you, the cadence of your words suggesting it was someone familiar to you on the other end. You caught my gaze, and with a quick, silent gesture, mouthed for me to undress.
I remember lying there, stretched out on the blanket on the floor, trying to find the right words to express how you made me feel. There was this flutter of nerves, the kind that made me feel alive - good nerves. I looked up, and there you stood, utterly bare, a vision like something carved from marble and hidden in some timeless museum. You were beautiful in a way that felt impossible to describe, as if you were more than just human, a work of art, something to be revered.
We kept sharing our bodies, our souls, our minds - and it was startling how effortless it felt. The intensity of the first time never faded; it only deepened.
The February night clung to us. The air biting, the kind that wakes you, the kind that reminds you you’re alive. Hunger pulled us forward, so we wandered toward food - Inside a restaurant where shadows softened the room, we found light anyway - because it lived in our eyes.
March 2024
An understanding settled over me - our time was nearing its end. Each mention of it pressed deep into me, like prodding a bruise I couldn’t stop touching.. a reminder of the inevitable. That evening you were giving a speech. Your last day. I remember the unsettled feeling that clung to me all day, like a static I couldn’t shake.
The space itself was too polished - chandeliers, glittering surfaces, crowds of people who were neurocomformists… the kind who glide through and small talk without their skin prickling, without their chest tightening. They seemed untouched by the weight of existing - living in a world that never questioned them.
I wandered through them, faces blurring into noise, searching for you like a lifeline.
I finally found you at the bar, waiting for a drink. I stopped in my tracks, just to take you in. When I reached you… you looked up and said, hey. I asked if you were nervous. Of course you weren’t. You never were. That confidence, that radiance… Taking center stage as if the floor itself tilted toward you, everybody else just sliding into your orbit.
At the table my ears rang, my vision blurred, and I kept my ice cold drink in my hands to help ease the glass shards in my bloodstream.
When they announced you, the air seemed to shift. Chairs scraped, glasses stilled, and the crowd leaned in - but all I could see was you, rising with that effortless poise as if the stage had always been yours.
I pulled out my phone to record. How could I not? I needed your voice, your brilliance, something to keep. I knew I’d play back in the nights that felt hollow. It wasn’t about the speech… not really. It was about having proof that you existed like this - bold, beautiful, humorous, untouchable… and that I was there to witness it.
You nailed it. Every word sharp, alive, every pause intentional, commanding the room in a way only you could. The applause broke like thunder. I was left breathless with admiration. But another part of me felt like a storm cracking open my chest. Because while they clapped, I was clinging to the person I loved, already mourning the distance I knew was coming.
Afterward, you invited me back to your house. Walking to my car, the sun sank low, bleeding colors across the sky like the day couldn’t hold itself together anymore. I swallowed tears, took a deep breath behind the wheel, and let Aqua Regia by Sleep Token carry me through the night toward you.
We stayed up until early morning, sipping wine, talking about everything and nothing, even though you had an early flight. You were leaving your car behind, coming back in a month to drive it out, to finish packing your house. That thought became my thread of hope… this wasn’t really goodbye - I convinced myself.
The wine dried, the laughter dimmed, and I fell asleep on a beanbag, you in a chair across from me. Morning came too fast.
I woke dazed, heavy with sadness. You reached for me gently, guided me to your room, tucked me into your bed so I could rest a little longer before leaving. And then… you gave me a gift. Something I can’t name, because it belonged only to me, something I’ll hold forever.
You kissed me on the forehead, and then - you were gone.
Part VI: April 2024 continues the story
I survived, but survival felt like treading water with bricks tied to my feet. Work kept me afloat… barely. My mind pulled me under… daily. I carried wars no one saw. April would test whether I could keep carrying them…
