(ellipsis)

i love her…

…and this is the end of everything beautiful.
this is the end of everything, beautiful.

—

thank you for taking this journey with me. i am thankful for the space you’ve allowed me to make. she has chosen a path without me, so i will not be writing (ellipsis) any more.

i invite you to follow my new tumblr, http://iloveherepilogue.tumblr.com
where i will put all of the memories she asked me to make and i will try to heal the best way i know how: through writing.

sincerely,
Mayday

i love her…

…so i told her. i am so afraid, so scared that this is the beginning of the end. but i told her. i said she did not have to say it back but she had to, had to believe me.

i love her…

…because she keeps me on my toes. no matter where this goes, i’ll always think of her as someone that i love. i know that passion and patience have the same Latin root word and i have found both truth and solace in that.

i love her…

…and everything we’ve shared together. a year, says the ticket stubs in my wallet. says her clothes in my drawers, says the art on my wall, says the photos in my phone, says the poetry, says my body, the way my heart beats.

i love her…

…and how i can do anything with her, from the intimate to the silly. like that time at Bourbon Street when we faux-hawked her friend’s hair and i got him to dance and my new pants ripped straight up the ass and we all laughed but kept dancing.

i love her…

…so i feel our beginnings like the butterfly effect. i touched her skin in brazen summer and found a line of braille: i’m hanging from moment to moment with you and in between the butterflies hold me together.

i love her…

…and i wish she’d be a little gentler with herself. ‘even a broken clock is right twice a day,’ she told me once. no matter the hour, or where the second hand lies, the original rhythm remains inside. all the answers will come in time, by way of no clock but her own.

i love her…

…in the waking hours of her late brother’s birthday; she was so sick, nearly in the hospital recently, and her phone was dead for a day and oh, all the scenarios that made movie screens of my skull. delicate new-york-minute lives. i do not know what i’d do without her in mine.

i love her…

…so the acoustic version of Everlong will never be the same for me. last summer, we’d kissed, just kissed, for three hours in my bedroom to an acoustic playlist of the same seventeen songs. kissing her is the closest i have ever come to perfection.

i love her…

…breasts, and how sensitive they are for her. when she got one pierced i nearly had a heart attack for want of her. her taste has lingered long on my lips; her touch is where art and sex meet.

i love her…

…boxy glasses framing feral eyes, and her dimples when she smiles wide, and her little, cute feet, toenails painted black. she had short, courageous hair when we met. her hair’s grown out but not her courage.

i love her…

…and i know it feels like her sky’s falling down in waves, she’s sinking slowly. i want to be her rock, that coastline with the beacon that spells safe harbour; no, i want to be the ship that braves the storm just to keep her warm.

i love her…

…nakedness. when she first gets out of the shower, her long rose-pink towel wrapped loose around her, wet hair disheveled, her embarrassed half-smile. no lighting, no camera angles, could translate that quiet grace.

i love her…

…so i walk the busy city and feel its emptiness without her nearby. “i missed your skin when you were east” plays to the hum of the traffic. i got on the train and for the first time it was in her opposite direction.

i love her…

…when she sings. no one sings like she does, no one. in the car, her energy conducts hotwired music. she exhales along with the sound system and she becomes the song that’s stuck in my head.