Magical moments with him are a distant memory. I try to relive them in my mind to keep them breathing, to keep them alive. Is he lying there awake, pondering our passion, rehashing the moments by bonfires, or what it felt like to hold me? I'm not sure if the flashbacks land in his mind, but I don't need them to.
He's a million miles away now and I wonder what his life looks like. I wonder where he eats, sleeps and who he speaks to. I wonder what it looks like there, and how I would like to see what he sees while holding his hand.
It doesn't matter to me that he wasn't perfect, or that sometimes he made jokes I didn't find funny. He was endearing with his childlike innocence and charm.
When he locked eyes with mine, there was no greater force. Our eyes were holding us together, but there was still so much we didn't know about each other. So many secrets he wouldn't ever uncover about my life, my past and how I was currently feeling. He was easy like a book to read, and I was a dictionary of a foreign language. He didn't even bother to try; he let me whimsically be myself, never forcing me to release any of my secrets from the corners of my heart.
None of those secrets mattered when he would wrap his arms around me. No past or future moment stole the show. Right then, his hand in mine, eyes locked, our hearts pounding into one another was all that mattered. Feeling his heartbeat and then letting it fade into the distance as he drifted around the world, was exactly the spark I needed to heal from my past.
I am grateful for the embers of love in this life; those moments of love, however fleeting, that heal you and then release you to continue on living.