#romance, #lightangst, #postbreakup, #hurtcomfort

The spaces you left burned and tainted orange hues at the corner of my eyes like exposed photographs. When I walked out of your life, I thought it’d take me years to get over you. Turnes out, I’d have you around more than the times we spent when we were together.

And yes, I walked away. I wonder if there would be much of a difference in this version than the stories we’ve heard before.

I woke up today and spent hours staring at the white walls of my kitchen, looking at the placeholder between the fridge and the counter were you used to stand. I tried making an outline of your image there, and was amazed at how easily my mind filled it in with colors, textures, character, being. You were there in an instant. That was the moment that I realized there was no shame in admitting that I loved you. That I might still love you now, but in a different sense. It’s as if I had a love for you that only empty spaces understood.

I never thought I could love anyone this way.

The first time I met you, it was not a whirlwind, and there were no butterflies, but instead a slow flood, rising a millimeter per hour. I didn’t know where the leak had started, but when I decided it was you, I never went back.

It wasn’t always like that between Mondays and I. We used to be at war; but when I met you, Mondays turned into an oasis in the middle of a desert. It was the only time we were in the same place and the same time. Rarely do we meet in the middle. Mondays became our halfway point. It was ours like our love was ours. I  learned to love Mondays ever since you entered my life. And ever since the day you walked out of it I’ve been teaching myself how to stop making Mondays about you.

Take a guess what day it was that day when I saw you standing at the far-end of the vacant room in my heart, like a cameo role in a blockbuster film. You were there, you were just not of importance. Not until I gave you a name.

No—you gave me your name. I gave you the role of the love of my life, the star of the show. 

The very first time you said my name was a comedic gold. I didn’t hear you then. I thought I was forever going to wait for you to say it; that I had to pray for better luck in my next lifetime. But no, I got lucky in this one. And I was even luckier because my name wasn’t the only thing you called me.

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