Sunflower

His name left a soft murmur on my lips, almost like how his memories are still fresh in my thoughts.

I saw him today and only glanced for a quick moment before turning away because I didn't want to look at the man who brought me to tears, who made me feel broken.

Yet, this is only part one.

I'll have to continue to see him until the memories fade away and all I see is man, and not the person I was willing to sacrifice myself for.

Is this how love works?

I allow the alcohol to numb my veins as I reminisce on the days we shared. I seek for a reason, a meaning, a sign to guide me to what it means to be whole.

I was finding myself when I met him and pieced myself together as we unfolded with one another, and before our clothes became small piles on the floor, his soul pressed against my skin like his fingertips on my body.

I let him see me, because I so desperately believed he cared for me like how I willing sought him.

It's okay, I already recognize the pattern we've created and realize it's going to be okay.

So, when I look at him now, I don't glance into his eyes in fear he might see what lies beneath. My undisclosed desire that lingers for one more touch, one more breath, a lasting evening of parked car conversations speaking from one soul to another.