Supernova

Last night I felt you in my dreams, walking in and through me. I saw you again and I loved you as small bare feet carried your spectral form like a fresh breeze through dim rooms of happiness and heartbreak, through pleasure and pain from days long past but not forgotten.

I was thrilled to see you. In your presence I ignored boundaries I’d set, and took no account of scars you’d left me. I let you tear at them anew, and relished the escape of intimate tears of laughter and regret: tears that moistened the downy circles of your cheeks and bed pillows—strong tears that lashed my soul like rope to yours.

I held your head in my hands and brushed hair back from your eyes. I kissed your ears and forehead and the corners of your mouth, and buried my face in the silky curves of your neck.

I said the old words, “I’ll never let you go.”

A tropical tide pulled by the power of a crescent moon, I fell under you, savoring your saline on my lips, caressing the bend of your hips with gently swaying palms. I breathed in the scent of your hair and breasts and dewy skin; savored the taste of your syrupy swells.

I relived the brilliance of our lives—our love—going gloriously supernova: a radiant blast of ache and ecstasy that burned fierce and violent until we ruptured in every direction…

…only to feel cold, lasting nothingness in each other’s wake.

I saw you in my visions, and stirred in my bed, longing to touch you and tell you once again how much I loved you. I felt you in my dreams, and cherished you as easily as I always did.

I woke alone in my empty room, burdened by the weight of happy memories, the corners of my eyes wet with endless dark, desperately trying to muffle the childish whimpers from my splintered grieving soul.

I’ll pass this day in quiet agony, trying to erase the impression of your warm and smiling eyes. Just as I do every day.

Not because you ever really loved me, but because I loved you.