Dear Remi,
Now playing “I Will Always Love You”; by Whitney Houston.
This song is the closest thing to what I feel.
How do I let go of something I never had? No, it wasn’t a situationship. It never had the chance to be anything other than a quick goodbye. I guess if I speak about him in the past tense, it would make letting go easier.
I tried not to inhale him so I wouldn’t smell him at every corner. But how do I erase the memories of the warmth in his breath behind my ears? Or the feel of his fingertips on the small of my back? The smile that creeps into the corners of my lips when I catch him stealing glances my way? How do I teach my heart not to flutter when I remember his throaty laughter? The shyness in his gaze? The assurance that he always prayed for me? Would I see him in the eyes of every dark man who looks funny without his glasses? I can’t find mine, my glasses. The two pairs. How careless of me. I had promised not to be careless with his heart. But I never got the chance to steal it.
Our love existed only in potential, yet it weighed so heavily that it feels like it would have left a mark on the world. Remi, I never had the chance to watch us blossom. I think it is unfair because we deserved that. Now I have to say goodbye to something that was never given the chance to be born.
He writes, too, you know. If he were to ever write about me, would it be that it hurts him to let go as much as it hurts me? Would he remember what I smell like? The florals and woodiness in my scent? Would it trigger memories of our cuddles and laughter? Would he say he loved being in my arms as much as I loved being in his? Would he remember how vulnerable I was with him? Would he remember that he could read my emotions through my face? How could he never let go until I told him what was on my mind?
I believe we were our definition of perfect. We would have been Christ-centred. It would have been far from toxic. I do not know what long-term happiness is, but we would have been joyful. We were made of green flags, woven together; only that the threads were bound to loosen.
I’m undone, Remi. I do not know what to expect when I am left alone with my thoughts. Sometimes I feel the furrows of my forehead give way to a smile, other times I taste the saltiness of the tears before I can protest. It’s like blood and water, gushing from one source. Would my heart explode with the happiness in our memories, or would it shift places from the hurt?
I do not want to share our memories with others. I want to guard it. I don’t want it to lose its hold over me. It is mine. It is ours. It is sacred. I will always cherish it, Remi. Would he guard it too? Will he forget me the minute the pain wears off?
“No. You are special. You will always be special.”; The huskiness in his voice. I never doubted it. He could have been lying, but I never wanted to explore that option. I trusted him.
We would have been supportive of each other and very much in love. I would have loved living life with him. How do I not struggle with the fact that I am not what he needs, not because I cannot be, but because it is written in my genes? Our genes? It is cruel, Remi. It is cruel that I found joy, but the blueprints of our blood whispered a weighty no. I asked God why. He said sometimes love meets science, and science wins.
When will I ever win, Remi?
***
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