Photo: Kurt Halsey
There's something calm, soothing, and wistful about the memories I have of him. Maybe because the time we had spent together was in a magical place, filled with castles and palaces; anti-urban landscapes that humble even the most fierce of critics. Mmmm, I can re-live the moments I spent in his presence with flawless detail. The way the weather felt against my hair, the smell of surrounding eateries… the butterflies, the sweaty palms, the eye contact.But that was so long ago. And I feel a bit guilty that I allow his memory to resurface as often as I do. But he is my guilty pleasure. And while I hate to admit that on every full moon, my bones ache for him, the cruel and piercing reality of it all is that I love his memory more than I can ration with words. I didn't spend enough time with him to know him wholly, but who's to say that time constricts the way a love develops. It is a feeling so deep and so painful. That every second I think about him brings a heat upon my chest. It is a feeling. A feeling.
And I hate myself for loving his memory this much.
