we own nothing, we are no one
Sometimes I wish I could go back, to that time we shared, take a glimpse, and immerse myself in that skin for a day or two. Because believe me, I can no longer remember how that love felt like. I wonder why we couldn't put that story in the forefront and fight even a little, to salvage what was then like oxygen: essential and eternal. Believe me, when I see couples who, in complicity, fall in love with every glance, it's still our gaze that I recognize, and I know that in some quantum way, we're still there... Perhaps because I've let go of so many things that the timelines and universes have mixed so much that they have their own colour and shape.
I look at photos, and I don't seem to recognize that guy who was truly in love with life, with you. Time, that inescapable passing, can heal or worsen everything we feel. Situations pile up, distancing us or bringing us to the edge of thoughts that circle the mind and soul, slowly beguiling memory. When the promises we never imagined breaking, mix with that cursed ego that betrays us and stomps heavily. Because in the blink of an eye, that mattress where we build a home will smell like someone else, it will tell other stories, it will witness other dreams.
And it's inevitable to halt this process. I wish I had lived it before it happened, imagined it, felt my stomach twisting for no apparent reason, over an idea, over a riddle I stopped to dissect. But that absurd game of imagining scenarios is a toss of a coin. In that enthusiasm to live all possibilities, we also reminisce about the good, the beautiful, the essential. Like your scent, which seems to want to remain only in my memory, going nowhere else. Then, unintentionally, you plunge into the ocean of how pleasant it would be to touch your hair again, while the nauseating thought of seeing you with someone else torments me, and makes me realize I'll never be me again.
But in the end, nothing was really mine, nothing is mine. I said you were my woman with such ignorance, and I said it so many times and in so many contexts that I ended up fabricating and believing in an eternal and irrevocable contract of perpetuity. But I am completely wrong to think that way. No one belongs to anyone, nothing belongs to anyone, and I learned this the hard way when the saddest story became the happy ending of the woman I loved in the arms of someone else.