Our story is like a natural disaster. One of those things that you never really see coming but when it hits you it leaves you gasping for breath and it hurts like hell. It didn’t start that way. Once upon a time it was playful and exhilarating. I don’t think I can say it was innocent because that’s a word I wouldn’t even whisper in context to you and me.
There was bad timing, bad judgement, and a boat load of luggage between us. You wanted me, I was pulled elsewhere. I wanted you, you left me standing in the dark. We rode that wave for a very long time. Something had to give. And it did.
It’s been years since we’ve been together yet somehow our story never seems to end. Are we daydreamers? Soul mates? Or just gluttons for punishment? I still don’t know what is it we did or could have had.
I have everything now. Yet, I still feel your pull. I hear a song or see a face that makes me think of you and I am drawn back into my thoughts of you, of us. I visit a place that I know you frequent and I cannot focus. The thought that our paths might cross both thrills and terrifies me. I feel like an addict and you are my drug. I suspect that just one taste would be the end of my sobriety.
I can’t seem to find the right place to put you. Sometimes I want to forget about you, sometimes I want to run to you, and other times I just enjoy the memories. You might be bad for me. You might be good for me. I never really had the chance to find out.
How does this story end? Or maybe it has already ended but I simply don’t want to admit it? I just don’t know and I think I like it that way.