Contributor: William Gray Tait
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I call out into the chaos one more time your name. Yet there will be no answer. There never is anymore. This endless day has turned eternal. It hardly feels real. On so many other evenings we would argue and fight late into the early morning hours and then make love afterwards. It was a ritual of sorts, a dance, a synergy, only we understood. And in those moments we would achieve a perfectly symmetrical relationship of angst and anger, where I would wait until that passion, that fire burning in your veins would swell up and push through, melting away the ice built up in your heart.
But in the end, at least what we had was real. I know your pain was. I told myself we were better for what we went through. It bound us closer. And to be fair, for all the bad times shared, there were just as many moments cherished. Only now can I assign due value to our relationship. Only now in the face of loss can I finally see how much each moment meant in twenty-twenty, crystal, clear clarity.
If tomorrow the sun does rise I will go out again looking for you, my dearest. I will look along with the thousands of other people also looking for love lost in that valley of cold concrete. I will call out again into that void, down each of the streets of Hades as the clouds of smoke billow up from the ground, surrounding me, raining down fiery paper snowflakes and burning ash. I will continue looking through that wall of photographs extending into infinity. I will take comfort in my makeshift brothers and sisters, consoling each other, even if just to alleviate a little bit of the pain for just a moment in time, enough to get me through that next day and into the next.
And I won’t stop looking for you even on that day. Never until I find you, even if only in my dreams. And I will tell you just how much I love you even now, for being able to see me for who I was and accepting that, for loving me for me, and at the end for giving me the space I thought I needed even though doing so tore you apart. I’m so sorry I didn’t say those things the last time we spoke face to face, three weeks ago, when we fought about some stupid, mundane detail, something I have already long forgotten but I will never forget.
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I call out into the chaos one more time your name. Yet there will be no answer. There never is anymore. This endless day has turned eternal. It hardly feels real. On so many other evenings we would argue and fight late into the early morning hours and then make love afterwards. It was a ritual of sorts, a dance, a synergy, only we understood. And in those moments we would achieve a perfectly symmetrical relationship of angst and anger, where I would wait until that passion, that fire burning in your veins would swell up and push through, melting away the ice built up in your heart.
But in the end, at least what we had was real. I know your pain was. I told myself we were better for what we went through. It bound us closer. And to be fair, for all the bad times shared, there were just as many moments cherished. Only now can I assign due value to our relationship. Only now in the face of loss can I finally see how much each moment meant in twenty-twenty, crystal, clear clarity.
If tomorrow the sun does rise I will go out again looking for you, my dearest. I will look along with the thousands of other people also looking for love lost in that valley of cold concrete. I will call out again into that void, down each of the streets of Hades as the clouds of smoke billow up from the ground, surrounding me, raining down fiery paper snowflakes and burning ash. I will continue looking through that wall of photographs extending into infinity. I will take comfort in my makeshift brothers and sisters, consoling each other, even if just to alleviate a little bit of the pain for just a moment in time, enough to get me through that next day and into the next.
And I won’t stop looking for you even on that day. Never until I find you, even if only in my dreams. And I will tell you just how much I love you even now, for being able to see me for who I was and accepting that, for loving me for me, and at the end for giving me the space I thought I needed even though doing so tore you apart. I’m so sorry I didn’t say those things the last time we spoke face to face, three weeks ago, when we fought about some stupid, mundane detail, something I have already long forgotten but I will never forget.
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Author:
William Gray Tait
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