It was just like you to show up late. Honestly, it was just like you. It was the hottest day of the year so far and every green space was full of people trying to get their fix. Daylight junkies. When you live beneath grey clouds for most of your life it starts to take its toll and you take your highs where you can get them.
I was a bundle of nerves, as I always was when it came to you, picking at grass and trying to pretend that the fact you were late was totally cool. Instinct told me differently and I knew as soon as you graced me with your presence that things had changed. It was written all over your face - guilt, guilt, guilt - but I was naive and thought you were just shy.
I can't believe that it's been so long since you cracked me open under star spangled skies. I can't believe it's been almost a decade yet I'm still just as aware of you as I was before. They say that time heals but I still feel the wound, fresh and bleeding, beneath my skin. I still can't resist picking at it every time I'm alone and down to the last inch of the bottle. You still swim into view on dreamscapes - my own personal ghost - haunting me, asking me why I accepted it. Why did I agree to allow you to treat me like that? But I was naive and thought that you really cared.
Everything I write is a reflection of you. You're everywhere. In the words I choose and the characters I create. I often wonder if you've ever read any of my stuff. If you've ever picked up something and scanned the page for the hidden messages that are so obviously there. I often fantasisize about what I would say to you if our paths crossed again.
Someone once told me that you can tell a lot from a relationship by sleeplessness. If it isn't keeping you up, then it's clear it's not important. It hurts when I think of all the times I bid you goodnight and I stayed awake staring at the ceiling while you slept soundly, a million miles away, in her bed.