I smell you and your room in my
Université de Paris sweatshirt and am
overwhelmed by a battery of thoughts,
chasing each other by and through a thin film
of association. Some paths, painful, send me
reeling back, searching for a clearer way. As I
continue searching, it doesn't matter so much,
as long as I continue. I don't want to put the
sweatshirt in the laundry, not yet anyway.
You remain here, a certain possible distance
This is a glimpse.
My first love wrote this for me. It's funny, my perception of our time together is that I was always chasing after him and he was always running away. I don't even really remember what this means anymore. If it were dated I could at least obtain a frame of reference, but it just sits on a piece of paper, staring up at me, trying to tell me something, and I don't know what exactly.
I do remember wearing his sweatshirts. I enjoyed doing that. I enjoyed smelling his scent. I guess he enjoyed mine as well.
I also just found a series of journal entries I wrote about our last days together before he left to study abroad. My deep poem to him that he doesn't know exists:
Never again will he smile just for me.
Never again will he kiss my lips.
Never again will he caress my body.
Never again will he hold me and tell me everything will be alright.
Never again will he love me with all of his heart.
I sit and hope for never to come.
I wrote that the very day he left, right after he got on the plane. Gosh, I was intense back then. :)