Sometimes we forget how happy we made each other. How we felt when we shared our first kiss, and that feeling of not wanting to part even when we both were sure that there will be a tomorrow. Over time, we forget that. That titillating feeling in our stomach that comes with each first - first time we fell asleep in each other's arms; first time we woke up to the sound of the other breathing; even the first time we missed each other. The passage of time makes us forget.
Listening to my friend gush over her new guy, I was reminded. How once upon a time, you made me feel the way she looked in front of me. With a permanent smile on her face, and elation in her voice. As the night went on and she shared stories of her new guy, I found myself sharing old stories of you. Stories I haven't spoken of in a long time.
She had asked me earlier in the evening if I was sure I was over you. I told her yes. I didn't feel the same.
Even after I reminisced about our first date to the last weekend we spent together telling stories under the star-filled Phoenix sky, the longing for you was gone. Eight years of waiting for you to remember how you felt when you first took my hand the night we met has been way too long.
I guess people do reach a limit and you've reached yours, my friend said.
I don't think you get that though.
Because you said I've been a bit colder.
And true, I've been different.
The sad thing is that I don't think you realize what it is. That the last eight years was how loving you looked like. And now, well now, is the look of the aftermath.
Listening to my friend gush over her new guy, I was reminded. How once upon a time, you made me feel the way she looked in front of me. With a permanent smile on her face, and elation in her voice. As the night went on and she shared stories of her new guy, I found myself sharing old stories of you. Stories I haven't spoken of in a long time.
She had asked me earlier in the evening if I was sure I was over you. I told her yes. I didn't feel the same.
Even after I reminisced about our first date to the last weekend we spent together telling stories under the star-filled Phoenix sky, the longing for you was gone. Eight years of waiting for you to remember how you felt when you first took my hand the night we met has been way too long.
I guess people do reach a limit and you've reached yours, my friend said.
I don't think you get that though.
Because you said I've been a bit colder.
And true, I've been different.
The sad thing is that I don't think you realize what it is. That the last eight years was how loving you looked like. And now, well now, is the look of the aftermath.
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