Rarity, clarity
2017-03-11, 4:59 p.m.

Wow so diaryland finally let me login. This is rare. I'm holding on to the bits of you and when I look again they disintegrate. I didn't want you to blow away but it is inevitable. That is how stubborn we both are. I look for evidence that you existed but it's getting sparser, even the digital evidence. Sometimes I think I made you up to hurt myself. It seems like a dream and every moment with you was just a lucid desire in my unconscious mind. I remember our last kiss. You were always good at turning your passion on and off. I couldn't do the same. I don't see the utility of it, even as a Machiavellian. You were brilliant and rare so I think I'll always miss you, even though I know the psychopath doesn't even have a blip on his radar as he consumes his prey.

I moved away, but somehow we moved in parallel and are still close by. I will probably never see you again but how can I truly know what the universe has in store for me. Maybe when I stop fighting to hold the dust blowing from my hands and emptying from my mind I will look up and you will be standing above me.

We write novels about the ones who have the audacity to hurt us after me tear our chests open in pursuit but never an ode to the ones who pick up our bleached bones after the protagonist consumes us whole. I'm not accustomed to a love that is easy and sure. Maybe I wanted the kind of love that would leave me breathless and sobbing because of the chemical seesaw. I was addicted to the euphoria as much as the crash. When I look at my paintings I see you in the cross hairs of my canvas. Being with someone who really loves you is different. He comes down to the floor and breathes into my paint. Being with him is like a hazy dream, I'm wrapped in a cocoon and he's turning over in his sleep, telling me he can't wait to marry me. It is an outdated idea I tell him, but he is an old-fashioned man. He still believes that marriage is the means by which we become physically and spiritually intertwined. He doesn't believe that we've been like this for many lifetimes. He will know the whole story one day. I will admit that I don't know the whole story either.