/lit/ - Literature

>>10791542

Do you remember how the two of us would sit up in my flat in Burlington, watching movies and laughing while the world around us froze? There was one night in February, a favorite of mine that reached 40 below zero. It didn't matter because the house was warm and you were there beside me. Actually, I think the cold only made me love you more.

I miss the heaviness of your body pressed against my own, the rhythmic rise and fall of your lungs with mine; that slow and intimate dance they did. I miss the push and pull of our breathing as you slept, moving me to peacefulness like sea waves. I miss focusing on the cracks in the plaster walls to prevent myself from drifting off, in an effort to savor being intertwined with you as long as possible.

I miss the weight of another person's life bearing down into my own, how with each subtle shift and stir you unconsciously told me that you were there to stay. I miss the honesty such closeness whispered, those small unspoken affirmations found in subtle motions, the ones that kept the winter at bay.

Before I knew it, I had to leave; the softness, the realness, the sincerity of you, that lovely thing so anchoring my peace. It evaporated into shallow digital platitudes, and eventually faded into silence. It was not my fault that I got sick and had to go, that I left you alone up in Vermont, out in the cold by yourself.

Now that I'm somewhat healed, back from death, from what those people had done to me, I no longer allow myself to be close. I hate what they did, how through violations so fundamental, they made me ugly. How I hate that I hate to be touched, how it's not my fault that something so essential now causes me such pain. While I hate them deeply for all that they’d done to me, I hate them the most for taking me away from you.

There is nobody in the world I'd want so near to me, nobody except for you, that missing piece all clad in green mountains. For some reason, after everything that happened, it was always okay with you. If all that I had was the fire that you were, that gentle caring thing by which to warm myself, I think I could be that person again. I think I could be that person for you. I think it would be okay if the rest of the world were as frigid as it was that night in Vermont, way back in my memories, up in my flat, when the two of us would laugh and watch movies. I think it would be okay if all the world had froze, so long as you were there beside me.