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Letters I wish I sent

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This is a short story about my failed love life lmao. There will be 5 part. I'm writing this because its been a hard time and I want someone to see what happened through my eyes. I don't think it'll be boring and I hope you enjoy!

Romance / Poetry
Age Rating:

Words I know

All we had in our relationship was words.

Beautiful, luxurious words. Words that formed silhouettes of our very being. Words that sought more from each other than a kiss or a promise. I never felt the touch of his skin nor peered into his cerulean eyes But I did hear his voice. I heard his heart. I heard the way he walked in sorrow. I heard the way he cried. I heard his misery and I heard his joy. And funny enough he heard mine.

I never thought I’d fall so in love with someone who only gave me words. But out of everyone in my life, he was the most important.

And ya know something funny about words? They aren’t direct but interpreted. And sometimes they get mixed up and trip over each other. Sometimes they turn vile and petrifying. Sometimes they break you, and leave you alone in your room sobbing. His words were my sanity and my savior. His words were my sanity and my downfall. I just can’t seem to forget his words.

When I woke up. Every second was him. Every minute of every hour was just him. In the most innocent sense, I fell desperately in love with a man made out of words.

He, for a lack of a better word, was beautiful. Looking back, he reminded me of snow too stubborn to melt in the pouring rain. It’s not that he wasn’t scared of the rain but he just wouldn’t melt. He was invincible. But he was also a broken person. He was young and he was hurt. He hated the world, he spat at it. Punishing himself for nothing.

Eventually words weren’t enough. Not for him or me. Words always seem to have this bad habit of distance. When you’re scared, words can’t hold your hand. When you’re lonely words can’t wrap you in their arms and intoxicate you with their scent. So in a way, words are selfish. Only leaving you with the memory. I hate words.

But words were the only thing that held us together so words had to be good enough.

I, for a lack of a better word, was weak. In my anxiety I drowned. Running away and hiding, hoping it would fix itself. I was or maybe I am a coward. I wish I stood my ground and did the things I promised myself that I’d do. I wish I was good enough.

We fell in love too young. Our relationship, too short. At one point he even told me it didn’t count. But I never looked at any man the way I looked at him.

After a while, the short loving words we whispered became sharp knives leaving marks on our skin. Maybe I started it. Maybe in the end it was all my fault but the pain we shared was equal and I still can’t bring myself to hate him.

Painfully I dream of him. I see him in the night and he’s no longer made of words. He’s flesh and blood and he holds me the way I always dreamed he would. He whispers the little nothings that used to mean so much to me. He is my everything. And then I wake up.

And the world seems a little colder. Just a bit more gray. I never felt so sullen as when I wake up and am greeted by reality.

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