I’ll remember the night even if I love another.
I was driving home from a movie night. In A Lonely Place, coincidentally, is what I was in. I had just ended months of love and hidden affection due to my pride being wounded. Did I feel relieved? A little. Did it feel right? No. Nothing was right about that week, but I tried to treat it as if nothing was wrong. I couldn’t even tell our mutual friends how devastated I was.
The film was what I needed. Eloquent. Sincere. Then Bogart whispered the words that side-swept my whole existence:
“I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me.”
I lived a few weeks while you loved me. Boy, did that hit home, hard and fast. I could hardly contain my eyes, welling up at the memories of us together – in our world. The world that felt so full and astonishing. He was astonishing.
I left the house as quick as the credits rolled. No one suspected a thing considering I never linger. I remember getting in my car and wishing I could just teleport home. I wouldn’t have time to deal with these relentless thoughts and suffocating regrets. My phone was empty of text messages – a cold reminder of the above.
I didn’t even get a mile before my tears started to fall. I wailed and howled at the thoughts, the lack of thoughts, of us as one entity. I bawled until my own shattered voice was not recognizable. He is lost on me. I could not tell you the last time my heart was in pieces before that night. I had taken in so much air that the fact of it escaping me was never an option. I was winded and defeated, and most of all, heartbroken.
It took another week to turn the car back around, and realize what I needed. I needed the man who loved me. If only for a few more weeks. I took it. I took it and never returned.