My I Love You's

Kylie M. Sammons

3/15/2022

4:40 PM

When I got the call it felt like I had thrown myself off of a bridge into icy cold water. Like my insides had been crushed as he once crushed my soul, and as if I was sinking into a realm of nothingness, my life without him. The voice of a sweet mother who once cradled the boy in her arms slipped out the one syllable of “dead”, and I felt our hearts decaying together. I was teaching innocents, bright-eyed children who I could only wish never to have grief and loss swallow them whole, as mine did. I know that I am destined to die, and it’s a burden, but the weight of your soulmate being torn away like a band-aid on the young girl’s knee is the dissatisfactory appeal of falling in love. Love. Love is not a strong word for me, at least not with him. When we first touched souls I knew I loved him, and when we first touched mouths it sealed my belief. Never did I believe I would lose him twice, never did I believe I would lose him at all. Immortality is often a dream of the young girl, the girl who doesn’t know that she too will lose everything she once touched. I remember the day I learnt, I was teaching the alphabet, teaching the juvenile the order of our language, and the sounds of the tongue we speak. A, his name. His name first tasted like a sweet candy, evolving into a lustful joy. I still loved him when we left, and I don’t believe I will ever stop no matter how hard I try. Love was never underwhelming when I was with him, he was mine, and he was perfect. A gaping wound was left where he placed the words of ‘goodbye’ into me, gauze tape delicately lay on his scars from my ‘I love you‘s’. Love is such a distasteful fear, and he was tasteless. Loving him felt like a never-ending car chase, like your second high. I would lazily doze off, staring into his olive eyes, as he looked into me, into the compassionate circle, where he knew that he would tear it apart. Still, I looked into the reasoning eyes and nearly forgot my troubles. If it is a happy love, was it ever truly a love at all? I contemplate these words as I reflect, as I reflect on something more than a heartbreak. I can’t put it into words how I felt for him, and it’s even harder to describe how I felt when I heard of his death. Death. We are all going to die, but I never imagined it would be this soon. I spent my days wondering why he left, and when he would come back. In the mornings I awoke only to believe that I shall receive a call from him today. That once again, we would greet the other, and promise to stick together forever. Forever is a lie, and it should not be a word. I believe the only thing you can feel forever is love, loss, and sadness. Letting grief pass you by will never happen, my grief is still as fresh as a clementine in the winter. The blade never left my guts, and I cannot remove it. Now, I lay, looking at my outfit of black and begin reminiscing of the time after he left me. When my pent-up anger exploded onto my associates, onto my childhood friends, and onto my mother. The dark-red bloodied their clothes, tasting like expired whiskey and reeking of a deep burden. I wish that I could simply regret loving him. I wish I could regret teaching him how to use a hard drive, I wish I could regret concealing cardboard boxes, I wish I could regret how I touched his hand and could only feel fireworks, I wish I could regret the night in which he held me as all feelings of confusion, dread, and stress faded into his corduroy set. Three days after I was mutilated into a thousand puzzle pieces, I was alerted his last words were ‘I’m Sorry’. ‘I’m Sorry’. I’m Sorry means nothing to you, nor does it to me. I’m Sorry means that you were caught, and that you don’t feel anything but relief that you’re off the hook. But from him, it felt like a handwritten note inside of a store bought birthday card. The kind of note that reads ‘I love to spend my nights with, and you will always be there for me as I am with you’. The cards that have 20 dollars attached, that you pretend to not see. In this case, the 20 dollars were his flaws, and his imperfections, and his abuse and manipulation. But what purpose does it serve to antagonize a dead man? A dead man no longer serves a purpose, if he ever did in his life. The theory of a legacy is fictional, are we taught of amateur computer programmers? Are we taught of the woman you bought a balloon from, who gave you it for free? No, we are taught of the same 8 men, all who lives have been dramatized, and all who never did follow the rules. In the scheme of the universe, his death does not affect it. The sun didn’t stop revolving, but my mind did. To this day, I followed everything I was taught. I was taught to apologize for existing. I was taught to hold on tight. I was taught to love, and while the valuable lessons remain shinier than the first star, he remains more bright to me. He was my star, my soul, my love. As the dinisingrated pieces of his body fly back to me all at once, I inhale him, I breathe him in, and solidify that he is with me until the end. Until forever. Because, even absolutes are not always a lie. Our love was not a lie.