The pink elephant

Yes, I know I’m being all emo-y and shit. Whatever. Only one person actually reads this blog, so who cares…? Fuck it. I’ll post what I feel even if it makes people uncomfortable.

My heart is an empty vessel. What was once full of love and hope is now completely devoid of anything but despair. A part of me is missing, and I can’t get it back until you return to me. No matter what I do, I yearn for you. I yearn for your touch, your kiss, your embrace. I think of that night of my former roommate’s birthday party sometimes. As we were saying goodbye, you gently brushed my bangs out of my eyes. The touch was so innocent and kind, but it sent electricity soaring throughout my entire body. I miss that touch—the touch that lets me know I’m wanted, the touch that meant you were thinking about me.

I see you but completely without that touch, and it kills me. Every time I see you, I pinpoint the instances in which you would touch me without thought, whether I’m cooking dinner and you no longer wrap your arms around me from behind, or I’m greeting you and I’m unable to wrap my legs around your waist tightly while kissing your face, or the lack of a simple hand hold while browsing through the supermarket.

The absence of your touch is palpable for me. It’s like the pink elephant in the room that you so easily ignore but I cannot. It rears its ugly head at me from every turn and is daunting reminder that you are no longer mine—that I’m no longer allowed to touch you, that I can’t kiss your face at any moment, that we’re “just friends.” Instead, I’m stuck here, staring at that fucking pink elephant with its triumphant smirk, yearning to touch you and patiently hoping with every fiber of my being—my empty shell of a being….