I still have that scar. You remember the one. I know you do. You’ll never forget that moment and neither will I. It’s the first memory that comes to my mind when something echoes of you. Your cologne, a version of your car driving past, or your laugh haunting me in a crowded bar. I always trace that scar like clockwork. Up and down, side to side.
I know you taught yourself to hate me. To believe I was every wrong in your screwed up youth. That I took from you everything that could have made you better. Your grades, your friends, and your sanity. I was more trouble than it was worth. Maybe, it wasn’t even love, right? Who can love like that? Especially when someone destroys everything in their wake. Your mother was right, I was trash. You believe that now don’t you?
I believe differently. I believe we loved each other more then we could ever take. You were fire. I was ice. Destined to be together but better apart. So young and longing. We were each other’s air. But your lungs gave out before mine.
It would be easy to hate you. To believe the sadness and pain are everything. Those thoughts haunt me. That scar is a constant reminder. A reminder that it was real and what it meant to love you. Cause nothing will even make me forget how much I loved you. I’ll never love like that again.
Then I remember that night. The night that crashed our worlds. The pain, the agony, the utter suffocating love. And I wonder myself if it was better to have never loved you at all. But mostly in my darkest nights I wish that you had that scar and you’d have that constant reminder that you loved me too. I cherish that scar.