People say that time heals everything. That if you give things time, your pain, and your wounds, will become insignificant, and small. Well I've given things time. I've waited, I've painted, I've sang, I've written, I've dated, I've distracted myself in every way possible. You still seem to weasel your way into every damn thought, every dream, every moment. It's gotten a bit easier. Rather than a constant banging in my head, you're a persistent tap now. You bounce back and forth unnoticed, and sometimes hit a soft spot, and you stay there cushioned up. You bring up the laughs, and the smiles, and the smell. The fucking smell. You were my absolute favorite smell. I wonder if you still smell that way. Was it just when I knew you? Has it changed over time? I'll catch that same scent every once in a while when I'm out. It makes me pause for too long probably. It makes me pause, and smile, and close my eyes because it's one of the best smells. It's addicting. You were addicting. Maybe I'll always feel like I need you. Maybe I'll always feel like I want you here. And when I feel that way, I have to cry sometimes. I have to ugly cry, and scream a little, and I have to remind myself that you were never MINE. I miss the excitement sometimes. The feeling I felt, like I couldn't believe someone so beautiful, so unique, so fucking vibrant, was even interested in plain old me. I miss you when I see Llamas. I miss you when I watch Rick and Morty. I miss when you when I pass by yankee candle in the mall. I miss you when I hear so many songs. I miss you after I dream of you. I miss you a lot. You had this way of just staring at me. You still do. You look at me so intensely, and it makes me want to cower away, but I don't. I know that you see me in ways that many others don't. You see the ugly, and you're okay with it. I hope that we find our way back. Even if that's seeing you in a bar, and saying hello. Even if that's being able to see one another with someone else, and not getting a sting in each other's hearts. Even if it's a drunken hookup in the future, to remind us that we want to be close, but maybe we aren't meant to be. I love you, still. Even if you never loved me. That love sits heavily in my stomach sometimes. It feels like your squeezing me, telling me that you still think about me too. I want you to know that I think you're beautiful, and smart, and funny as hell, and refreshing. You're so refreshing in a world of shit. I love who you were, and who you are. I always will. I'll always write to you, and about you because that's who I am. I hope to see you again. I hope to catch that smell in the grocery store, or subway, and to reminisce. Remembering you is the best, and worst at times. It sticks around for weeks, not just moments. But then again, you've always stuck around. Just promise me, to never forget. Please. Don't forget me. Don't hate me. Don't hold back anything. I want to know when you're thinking of me. I want to know that you're doing okay. I want to know that we are on good terms. I want to know that you're happy, and well, and taking care of ourself, and thriving, even if that means with someone else. Because you fucking deserve it. I'll see you whenever. Even if it's on the gram, or while I'm asleep, or in our old photos. I'll see you.
® 2019 ODYSSEY