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kiyuso
☕ Partially active. Just blogging down my messy thoughts for the record and future references. Also a story writer, typically concerning my gays. I don't particularly have any interests. It's more like, if something piques my interests, I become infatuated or obsessed.
agenda
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Our story started one summer when I was running from something I'm still running from now, and you, you were there because it was the place you felt you could call home. Ultimately, we found our home in each other, carved out and without realizing it. You loved me with every nuance that scared everyone off. You swept me off my feet when most people knocked me off it. You held me close in those days when time was forgiving and free. And even when everything changed, I knew you still loved me even with everything that tried to pull you down. You still loved me even at your darkest; you probably loved me the deepest at that point in your life. Even though I trusted you with my heart, my soul, my body—yet you betrayed that—I couldn't hate you anymore than I could hate myself. In that dark consumption, carnal and cruel, we were broken and beautiful. Bared before like never before, I could see even more your sunken eyes that beheld everything I needed to know, feel your tension of four years that war does to someone, smell the rancidity of what lets you sleep at night, and touch your skin that was cold just like you've become without our realizing. And during that intimacy, I cried not because of the tragedy, but because of what we became. We used to lie on the plush sofa we handpicked together; my head pillowed on your lap, your hand in my hair as we enjoyed each other's company as well as a good book. We used to drive each other up a wall cooking together, and laughing as well at the absurdity of our moods in the kitchen, mellowing out once we seated ourselves on the dining table and enjoying the meal we fought over not too long ago. We used to take turns driving your monster of a jeep, sometimes up ridiculous terrain and down the scariest slopes of mountains and trails. We used to play on the playgrounds like we were young and kids, except kids certainly don't kiss with a sort of desperation that we had for one another. We used to attend each other's classes, just to be near one another, snickering like freshmen at the absurdity of what we were doing. We used to go dancing on Sundays, so you could twirl me, dip me, lift me, and kiss me silly without needing an excuse, lost as we were in the music and exhilaration. We used to take long walks after every meal, with you piggybacking me half the time because of my cramps, but you never complained once. We used to wake up in bed together, until your side was colder than the air outside—you barely came home those days. We used to wear each other's clothes for the fun of it, then I had to worm my way through every one of your sweaters cause you were no longer around, chasing your lingering musk to fill the void in my heart. We used to enjoy grocery runs together, bickering and spending hours there, until it became just me rushing in and out to buy one person portions or meals. We used to brush each other's hands on purpose just to feel that cold metal that made me yours, as you were mine too, until you stopped wearing your band, hidden in the bedside drawer it was like a secret you wanted me to be sometimes. We used to mutter endless endearments to one another, just to fill the silence and the empty spaces in our hearts, until we realized those words could no longer mend us or our failing relationship. That didn't mean we still didn't love each other though. We were both going through a difficult time and somehow we couldn't reach out to one another during that time. I'm sure you missed me as much as I did, and I'm sure you loved me just as much as I did you, if not more or as much as everyone else knew, no doubt. Just because all the bad happened, that ruined us, it didn't ruin some of our happiest moments, peaceful memories. Nothing could tarnish that, because the feelings during those particular times were the truest and loveliest—they weren't empty, lies. I hope you know that I love you even now, that I wish there was something more than what we only had. And I know you felt the same; you even bought our rings already and always carried them in your cargo vest, in the pocket closest to your heart. You ring has a dent in it, from the barrage of gunshots that felled you, and as I stroke that part, you have no idea how much my heart fills and empties at the same time. It is a bereft feeling I wish I didn't ever have to know. And you wished the same for me, that's why you didn't want them in my possession, huh? But in the end, they ended up in the number one place you wished them not to be. So please don't fret, for they are a heavy burden, but a beautiful notion of what we promised one another, what you tried your hardest to make true. I'm glad they came to me, that your feelings found a way to me even in the aftermath. I couldn't ask for anymore, except for the impossible—for you to be here with me still. But don't worry. I don't dwell on the things that couldn't be, should've been. Like you always told me, to live in the now, and that I am trying to do. After your memorial service, we went to go watch your favorite anti-hero movie, your best man and I. We bought three tickets as if you were with us. We kept the popcorn in the middle seat too, because you were always a popcorn-hogger. We laughed extra hard, extra loud to make up for your boisterousness, and it was so bad we brought ourselves to tears. It really was that funny, I promise, and if we wept extra tears for something else, that'll be a secret between your best man and me. Afterwards, we had the best ramen to finish the day, and to welcome you home. Ramen was always like coming home to you. A good broth was like a comfort to the soul, you said. And when we drained our bowls, we finally understood what you meant. With much love from your former fiance and your forever best man, we miss you and love you. Rest in peace and we will carry on for you, for us. |