(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.