this is something I wrote awhile ago, but I thought I'd still share it:
Sometimes I still miss him, the way he would discreetly trace messages in my hand hoping I would get the hint, the way he would touch my chin and draw me closer for a kiss, the way he would come up behind me and wrap his arms around me securely, how he looked at me with those deep, brown eyes, so vast and full of a life I hardly knew. But then it was the mystery that drew me to him in the first place. Wanting to know the phantom behind the mask. His poetry was so cryptic, and I deciphered what I wanted from it. Maybe he did mean what he said, or maybe it was only what I wanted him to say. I entrusted him with so much more than he had merited, or for that matter asked for, and all so soon. Two weeks to me seemed an eternity, but then to a small guppy a pond seems like the ocean. He had swam with the sharks many times before, he warned me...vicious he called himself...but I wouldn't listen. I couldn't imagine what I was getting myself into. And I still don't know exactly what it was that blindsided me so. But when you are so high, it's such a long way to fall, and all my bridges incinerated, there was nowhere to go but down into the depths of despair and hopelessness...I now realized what it meant to pass the point of no return...
But then I remember how blind I was, oblivious to the truth. We never had a chance, only a false hope instilled in both of us, one dying quicker than the other. Mine still lingers faintly, although it no longer brings pain. It is all a distant memory of times past, a time when innocence once ran free, when love was but a fairy tale. A dream that maybe would be nice to visit occasionally, but never to dwell in. No, that will only lead you down a dark and winding path. I would have given everything up for him, devoted my life to serving him in any way possible, even if it meant I was not his only, if it meant that I would degrade myself. But he never gave me that chance, and perhaps I should be grateful. As much as I suffered night after night, it was merely to save me from myself, from blindly following him into a life that was not right for me, in turn passing up something better in the future.
Of course I'd love to be friends with him, but that never seems to be an option. I put up a good face for him, letting him think I'm ok, for both our sakes. And occasionally we chat online. He knows I'm always there for him, although I'm glad he never takes advantage of that...along with teasing me, pushing me, or picking on me in any way...because he knows how much that would mean to me. He was my first love, first kiss...his face may eventually fade from my memory, his name become a jumble of letters, but he has helped shape who I am, and as much as I hate it I will never be able to forget him. I am, and forever will be...his kitten.
All that's left for me to do is plod on down this long, worn path, thinking about what is, what was, and what shall never come to be...in hopes that the future will surpass my own expectations.