I’ll never understand why it has always been you, but I also know these kinds of things usually don’t have an explanation. That’s the deal with emotion. From the beginning, it’s there or it’s not, and you just can’t force it.
Since the moment I met you, I knew something was special. I felt something different. And this is not me inflating your ego, because I really can’t stomach that you have this effect on me either. You see, I’ve met many people and shared many special connections. But ours is and always will be something out of this planet.
I tell myself that if enough time passes, I’ll be able to move on. Maybe it might take a couple more months. Maybe it might take meeting someone else. But this feeling is fleeting, and no matter where I am or who I’m with, my mind always wanders back to you.
When we were together, we were explosive. I mean, absolutely chaotic and euphoric. It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. And with those kinds of highs, the lows have the power to break it all apart. And they did. This intensity was the very reason it fell apart so suddenly. If only you knew how much I regret that it did.
We shared some blissful moments. And on the other end of the spectrum, nights that taste like vodka and lemon lime. You gave me a little glimpse into your world, as did I. But my intensity got the better of me, as it always does. It’s uncomfortable when you’ve never felt this way with anyone before. You give too much of yourself away far too quickly.
I’ll always picture us as a calm river when things were serene, in harmony with the trees nearby, flowing through stones. But in those final moments, it became evident we were like raging waters—destructive with a wrath nothing could survive.
I hope one day in the future, we can go back to being that river where everything was simple and peaceful. And even if we can’t go back to complete serenity, which probably would be boring if it’s all we were ever doing, maybe we could go rafting in the rapids and embrace the unpredictability.