There is a Spanish couple sitting in the next cubicle and the man wants the woman to get his point of view. He really does. His desperation reflects in his voice as he moves distinctly from articulating his thoughts to raising his voice. How vain that is, I think.
I loved once in my life. When I met her, I was excited because:
I found someone who I could reveal my complete self to – this was great because before meeting her, I felt like I was stifling many thoughts inside of me that, if nurtured, may have given me self fulfillment. Also, the thought of holding someone in my arms gave a feeling of belonging. It felt so good to finally have the freedom to be one with a female that I found worthy of me and who found me deserving of her. Suddenly, my feelings were not just my own! Someone else felt remorse when I felt sad and at times, she felt joyful with me. It felt so nice to pick her up when she least expected to be lifted, to feel her feminine waist and her porcelain skin … and then kiss her lightly while she slept.
And then I wanted to believe that I was the only one that she had loved with all her heart. So I wanted to know everything about her so I could love her more than she had ever been loved. And then when I was done, I began again because of things she did, too. I was up all night waiting for the call that never came. I felt alone again. Then she called and she emailed and it felt good for a while before darkness set in again. I was too passionate. She was methodical. I thought love was irrational. Not methodical. Then I pleaded to her – I was weak, I said, I wanted her love around me as much as I loved her. She said it was okay if I loved her more because she wanted me to.
So I was left alone trying to figure out the exact maths that go into loving her more than she did. I started keeping balance sheets and accounts of our transactions.
And then it died – faded shamelessly after being flared up by my passion of a thousand suns. How drained I felt. Not fair. Let me think about it later. My everything gets sucked into nothing. I wish this was just prose – not the story of my lost love.
