Lost in you

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You smile so sweetly and I almost fall for you all over again, despite all that has happened, despite all I have learnt, despite me coming here to end it once and for all, and then I see the blouse laid so casually over the bottom of your bed through the doorway you lean just as casually in and the whole painful memory and resolve comes swooping back.

“It has to stop”

I whisper in your ear, there is little intimacy to this action but as you lean in closer to catch my eyes again I have little choice but to turn my head as I speak. You smile at the sensation of my breath on your ear and I find myself simultaneously pleased and repulsed at the small pleasure I am providing you. I bring my hands up to reinstate distance once more, concentrating on stiffly pushing your chest away from mine instead of drawing it closer as I have done so many times before. You take my hands in yours and this time I cannot avoid eye contact

“It has to stop”

I repeat, weakly, but your smile does not even falter. You pull me in closer and I know that this is the moment, when you try and kiss me I will find the repulsion, the strength to follow through with this impossible task, to end it. I feel a moment of triumph, for once you do not know me as well as you say you do and then I am struck by confusion as I am pulled not to face you but onto your chest, your arms enveloping me I feel all hope slipping away into a startling sense of not quite disagreeable surrender.

Yes, I love you. Or at least I thought I did, often I wondered if it was lust I really meant but sometimes it seems the two are near impossible to differentiate until later. I am so caught up in this obsession that it seems I may never escape, never want to, and though every passing day seems to grow more painful I still view them through the soft tones and murky vision of etched glass, smoky rooms, drug-induced drowsiness. So I speak of love, and in the same breath I speak of pain, by now you must be wondering what kind of twisted fantasy I have spun for myself to be so hopelessly obsessed with something that brings such unhappiness, I know I would be.

The truth is just that though, I think I love you, and without me ever realising it was happening I have become entwined in a fantasy so perfect that it just has to be fiction. For this to be real there must be some imperfection, something must go wrong, I remember thinking that exact thought only days before I discovered the evidence of its truth- a solitary hair tie on your bedroom floor. From that moment it became easier to see all the little clues I had missed, or ignored. The phone calls that ended abruptly as I entered the room, the extra glass when you had been alone, the sickly smell of cosmetics lingering in your flat when I was wearing none- as if I would wear anything that smelt that way to begin with. And still you kept smiling. And still I couldn’t quite believe it without an out and out confession. I laid beside you night after night hoping you would turn to me and admit it without me having to say anything at all, hoping you would tell me it was over even though I knew it would devastate me to hear the words- anything would be better than this limbo…anything but that.


See also

The One  (13+) A relationship near the end, this seems to be a theme with me currently! #892154 by Jessie

for a similarly themed poem