It didn't matter that no one approved or that no one wanted
this to happen. I loved him and he loved me. Even if he
hadn't, I probably would never have cared. When we were
together, nothing hurt except our burning hearts and our
scratchy throats. We tried to explain to each other how we
felt, but a word so small could never encompass this huge
feeling. Holding hands over hearts to memorize that feeling.
We needed each other so much, that when we were apart there
was this awful drowning panic of loss. Terrified we would
never see each other again in the same way, we clung
together like victims. Hoarding our time together like
misers. We were everything that was beautiful to each other.
I was so unbearably pretentious, that I can barely
understand how I could love so much while thinking I was so
jaded. I had had things happen to me that never should have,
but hasn't everyone? This did not set me apart. It did not
make me special. I remember being afraid he would reject me
for things I did or thought. Things that popped into my head
in the most graphic ways, and I could never get them to
leave. They were etched into my eyes even as I cried in his
arms. I was afraid of the way words would fall from my lips
tripping over each other in an effort to say it all. I
talked about things that didn't exist like I saw them every
day. Or maybe it was that I saw things that didn't exist and
talked about them every day. I was so terrified that all
this would matter, be grounds for dismissal. I should have
known that he loved me. And that it didn't matter. Love was
love, no matter what I had done or seen. No exceptions or
excuses. All he wanted in return was the promise of my
touch. My whisper. Just me, saying he was my world and that
I would keep breathing for him alone. I still have those
promises to keep.