Esperándote

Seeking, searching, paitently waiting, esperándote.

"Shut up, and kiss me," I murmur against his lips.

And, as our silly adventures are added onto our long lists of late night escapes. I find comfort in knowing we can go back to when we first started, sitting in parked cars and sharing laughter over our stories. 

Reclined in our seats, with unbuckled seats and unbuckled souls confided with one another; we paused and glanced into each other's eyes. Vulnerable, seeking comfortability, searching for a reason to stay, paitently waiting in our beige leathered chairs for the next move.

Warmth filled my lungs despite the cold winter outside our windows, he was my safe place, my go to, his chuckle reminded me of how I fell for him. Or how the corners of his mouth curl into a smile when he's being mischievous, I didn't want just those pieces. But, I also craved his moody mornings, or the sound of his snoring that would wake me on the opposite side of our L-shaped couch.

Hushed whispers over pillow talk, like it was us against the world. I never knew I could feel this joy from one person, who was my first and last thought of my very day.

Those nights we spent apart, I fell asleep to the sound of his voice against my ears, or his words kissing my eyelids sweet dreams. He made me feel okay to be me, which was something I had never experienced before with any other man. He respected me and my boundaries, and paitently waited for me to clear my mind before asking me how I was.

Something changed, I don't recall when exactly; yet once a bad habit, now a healthy influence I craved like a drug.

Son esperándote.

Seven Months

Seven months.

Seven months too long of being with a man that could've once loved me, yet chose to break my heart.

I held onto hope, the belief that change was going to happen; it was inevitable.

His scent was my happy place, just like the sound of his laugh reminded me each time of why I could've possibly loved him.

So, I ask myself, why did I continue to go back to him. It's almost as if the unhealthy, constant on and off was some type of thrill for him. I allowed my emotions to control me, and my feelings for him blind me from the truth of our reality.

We just weren't meant to be.

I wish I could take back the feeling of his palms against my skin, or how we fell into our own routine that make it so hard to break away.

He's was my first and last thought, but now I want nothing but to eliminate him from my life. His cruel words finally broke through my clouded mind and allowed me to realize, despite where I go these next several months; I still may feel tethered to him. But, eventually I'll breathe again.

Here I am, longing for a trip to the beach where I can escape from the noise he left behind, and start over.

We found one another, and fell seamlessly, so why does it feel like I grasping for him, yet am only getting empty palms.