XXI. IT'S TIME TO LEAVE
his name danced on the tip of your tongue, wanting so badly to be said. you laid together underneath the sheets and you desired nothing more than to feel something — desperately you tried to get a grip on a feeling other than emptiness inside your chest but there was nothing left to grab onto.
you know the truth, you know he feels the same, but yet he still makes an effort, he still tries to keep on making it work. you admire him for that and despise yourself for having given up already, but you can't force feelings and you shouldn't have to. maybe your flames burned too brightly and quickly, now there's nothing but ashes — the remains of a wildfire kind of love, now dead after destroying everything on its sight. the birds don't sing for you anymore, the stars don't dance and the days don't feel eternal, it all feels normal again — your definition of normal is rather blurry, normal with him was anything but normal —, and the world doesn't vibrate with colour anymore, it's all black and white once again, not even a pint of grey.
your mind travels back to the first time you met him and he seemed so innocent and sweet. not that he isn't those things, but he's so much more. he's the world compacted into just one human being, he's so overwhelmingly complex and beautiful. he is thunderstorms and clear skies, he is a tornado and a soft summer breeze, he is a tsunami and waves crashing against the sand — choking the small grains with its freezing embrace. and you love him, all of him.
but not in the way that you should.
he leans down and places his lips on yours ( " i don't want to hurt you " ), still you feel numb ( " this is just one big mistake, boy " ), but god did you want to feel sparks ignite inside your body again.
unfortunately, wanting isn't the same as having ( " it's time we let each other go " ).
you remove your lips from his and sit on the edge of the bed. you take a deep breath: touch the floor and never come back to him or fall right back into the bed, insist on deceiving both of you.
what's it worth living a lie?
you step down and he knows what it means, he nods to himself and sighs.
( " i guess this is goodbye " )
you pack your things and leave around lunch time. you're still numb ( " am i dead? " ), you're not broken hearted or completely shattered ( " i'm nothing? " ).
he's still in bed, wondering the same as you.
you both come to a conclusion: you gave each other all that you had and were and even what you didn't have or weren't, now there was nothing left, not a tear to spill or one last laugh to share.
empty skeletons, empty lonely skeletons.
and so his name remained unsaid by you, its taste too bitter in your sweet toothed mouth.
-- save some part of you next time you think about falling – diving – in love ( if there's anything left to be saved ). it's dangerous to walk around so selflessly.