Tag: Young Love

Imagining that you would return to kiss me and I would feel those lips that were the closest form of perfection ever experienced.

That moment, that precise moment in which little by little our eyes start to open after the long dream of love. Only that countless times it hurts while opening them. Tho to many people it happens in a snap, to others, it is a much more tortuous process. Apparently, the grace to finally awake from the dream of love, full of arranged lies, contaminated kisses and rehearsed hugs, at the end has to hurt. At least you have to experience some pain, a little or a lot, that is irrelevant, but it must hurt. To see that person whom I believed to be perfect and in spite of seeing her entirely in a physical way, or why not, perfect in general, that pain in your chest that increases in quantity and strength with each heartbeat. To see from another point of view the stage where everything ended and to think that what I could have done while every tear slides down the cheeks as a growing pain penetrates the deepest of my feelings. Remember all those moments of joy and not be able to avoid wanting to repeat them, remember the day we met and feel how much in love you used to be. Feel like the world falls piece by piece to the compass of every minute passing away from it. Create a feeling of happiness and consolation to believe that ending it was for the best when my heart does not cease to shout for it to return and in the form of protest the eyes begin to shed tears by someone who will never return. Many wish to forget, but sometimes it is better to remember without feeling that sensation of agony that annihilates every trace of delight and happiness. To lie down in bed and remember the happiest day of the relationship and wish for it to last forever. Noticing how everyone laughs with ease and I don’t stop thinking about that person who made every day, night, week and month worth living for. Looking at the calendar and fix the look on our anniversary, without being able to avoid many other tears pour. Sleeping every day knowing that I won’t receive a “good morning” message when I wake up and get home without waiting for a call asking about my day. Listening to songs that once seemed to describe that particular person and now they are nothing but lyrics with a rhythm that burst in the heart and pierces it like thorns. To see those photographs that we took together and to know that they’re nothing but a testimony of what we used to have, that instead of provoking a smile those photos cause a persistent pain, a feeling of anguish and solitude. Imagining that you would return to kiss me and I would feel those lips that were the closest form of perfection ever experienced. Remembering those eyes that exhibit a soul that seemed to match with mine. Wanting to forget all of that to stop suffering, to exterminate all memories of her and as if nothing had happened to see how the heart starts to function in a fully natural way. To hope that our paths have never been intertwined in order prevent all this affliction, to forget every kiss, every caress, every hug and every word. But sometimes we want things, but they’re not always what actually favors us, and life will not intervene for us. Having to face the pain, the misfortune, the sadness and every tear until there comes the point where she is just someone else across the store, and there, right there, I’ll be entirely happy. Maybe eventually someone else will come into my life to whom I will have to recite all these words while my voice breaks and everything starts again.

© Gabriel Berm