The moon is red, hidden behind the clouds. I think about all the countless moons I’ve stared at while I spoke to you. The bright, full moons illuminating my face, the crescent moons like that smile of yours I fell in love with. Oh that smile, I could never forget.
It has been months since I last heard your voice, but I remember it clearly. Some nights I wake up in the middle of the night and check my phone for your calls, and my heart drops a little knowing I will never hear you say, ‘hey baby, can you hear me? Were you sleeping?’
I take my phone in my hand and all the memories stare me down. The conversations and the emails. The photos and the rather cheesy flirting we had going for everyone to witness. We were two people, in our own little bubble, unbothered by the world. Oh how we made promises and commitments about a fairy tale kind of future with some struggles and then happy endings.
There are times I talk to people and they ask me about you. I look down at my feet and plead to my eyes to not give away to the tears while I tell them about us. I thought it would get easier, but it didn’t. It probably never will get easy. I was hoping my heart gets as rational as my head is, but stupid thing makes me want to claw my skin out every single time I hear your name.
On many moments when I wander off into my fantasy land, I wish the universe waves its wand and grants me a wish, even if it means getting coffee together. Or maybe I could take you to that bar of your favourite team and you’d have a beer. A Castle Lager.
What would we talk about? Maybe you would tell me about college and maybe I could convince you to try a local food item. Maybe we’d go on a drive while playing that one song that we mutually loved, and silently ache in our hearts. And then we’d have to say goodbye, for the last time, wondering if this was a good idea.
There is an assignment pending and I look at my book. It’s about time I lock up your thoughts and memories in a box inside my head, for both our benefit. There is no gain in drowning over a love that ran dry, there is no use of hoping for light when we lost our spark.
But I cannot deny myself the truth. I know it’s self-destructive, but God do I miss you.