I still feel you. Always close, always nearby. Soft, gentle, and elegant. Long fingers that ghost over my arms, my legs, my sides, my face, my head, my everything. It’s always you, who I feel. Always you, only you.
You were my muse. The breath in my lungs. The dirt under my feet and the steady and strong beat in my heart. My thoughts are laced with spoken words of yours, my touch is trying to copy the touch you’d always give to me. You were my moon, and I was the stars dancing around you. You were everything, while I was nothing.
You were always so soft. So soft and yet so solid. Nothing really felt real without you. But whenever I was with you, I truly did feel. Alive. Existing. Breathing. I was someone.
Father did not like it when I was someone. It was always screams, and hits and blood. Beating out the stupid. He stripped me off my name, took away my face and heart. I was angry because of my father. Because he would take away my things. The things that were ever truly mine. I was angry because of my father, because whenever he came home, tired from work, he would slam the door so hard that our house would shake. I was angry because his love was nothing but bruising. And I thought that I did not deserve this.
And while he took away who I was, you gave me a new name, a new face, and a piece of your heart. You formed me. You created me. My body was your canvas. I was all yours. You drew with tears, blood, and guts. The smell of rotting flesh still lingers in the back of my mind.
But now I am sitting in my room, clinging to the memories of you. Oh, how much I want you to give me a name again. How much I want to be your one and only again. How much I want to feel your hands run through my hair again. I want you, moon.
How much I want to take your hand and pull you with me. Deep into the woods. Run for miles and never look back. Like we used to when we were kids. Muddy feet and scrapped up knees. The smell of blood and dirt never really left my mind. It still lingers. Waiting to consume me once more.
I could recognize you by a single inhale of your lungs. I’d recognize your breathing. I’d recognize you. You, my moon.
My body still aches for your touch, your love, your hate.
I still think we were meant to be. Always have been always will be. Oh, how much I want you here with me. How much I want to hold you, how much I want you to be mine again.
I keep drifting off. I keep losing the point I want to get across. I just want you to know, my moon, that I miss what we were. That I miss, what we were supposed to be.