Where does the love go once we break up? Once we sever all ties? Once your body and mind become foreign to me? Where does it go? I know it doesn’t vanish. Want to know how I know? Because it’s been six years and yet, I still feel remnants of you seeping from my bones. I’ll be lying in bed with him, so giddy, so in love. And yet, I’ll see your face. That scar that resembles a dimple when you smile, and reveals your slightly gapped front teeth. The way your hazel eyes light up, protected by your long, dark lashes. I will be sitting on a packed subway and my arms will start to feel the warmth from the gentle circles you’d always draw on me. We’ve never ridden the subway together. And yet, no place or experience is safe from the memories of you, of us, of the me I was with you.
You’ve taken up residence in my medullary cavities, in every bone, because there is no part of me that hasn’t been changed because of your touch, of your love. I don’t understand what draws you to the surface. But I know you’re there, even when I don’t feel you. Even when I feel like you’ve left me, deep down, I know you’re there. Ready to plague me at a moment’s notice. I know the love doesn’t vanish even though you’re a stranger to me now. Even when I’m falling in love with someone else. Somehow, someway my body makes room for you too. My bones shifted, organs rearranged, to make sure you’ll always have a place within me. And maybe I’ll go to my grave with you as a part of me. I want to believe that’s true. And I’m terrified that it is.
May 11, 2024