Talking to Strangers

I spent all my spare time in the comfort of strangers talking about you. Never wanting to shut up about my love for you. About the pride I have for you. About all my favorite things about you.

I spent elevator rides conversing with a stranger with an English accent about how she came to America and what part of England she was from because she sounded like you.

I spent hours pulling a chair up beside the concierge of my building to tell her how I’d planned to propose to you. Showing her the ring I’d been saving for.

I spent lunch breaks gossiping with coworkers about how fanfiction works and about how incredibly talented you are. I even had a few who read your work just so we could discuss it, because they saw the way my face lit up whenever I spoke of you.

Do you know what I miss most? The way I could feel a sense of calmness inside of me when I spoke of you. The way my face would light up when someone even said your name. The way I could spend hours telling a complete stranger how much I love you and plan to spend the rest of my days making you happy.

It’s just another thing I’ve lost. I’ve lost you. I’ve lost myself. I’ve lost the joy I feel inside when I speak your name and know I’ll see you soon and someday get to call you my wife.

It’s all ruined, you’re gone and that sense of calm has fled along with you. Yes, there are days when I start to believe I deserve to forgive myself. But then there are moments like these – times when I recognize that calmness is missing. But I don’t want it back. Not without you. Because I’d rather spend all my days missing you than trying to search for that sense of joy and calmness in someone else.

Where I Find You

I still look for you in every book. In every lyric. In every line of poetry. In every episode of television. In each movie I watch for the hundredth time. I still look for you among a sea of strangers in a crowded room. In the emptiest of places. In every piece of artwork. I still look for you, even in my loneliest dreams.

Another Stranger

I used to believe I was to blame. That I ruined what was blooming. But I’m not to blame at all. It was you who was afraid.

— And we weren’t blooming, we were burning.

Now, you’re just another stranger.

But tell me – how could a stranger force my heart to plummet completely into my stomach the moment I laid eyes on you again?