When I close my eyes, my mind paints a picture of his smile and shades the contours of his hands, the deep scar around his bicep.
I'm an artist, yet my hands are unsteady. With his presence, he has unknowingly broken that something inside of me that makes me who I am.
Being around him is like standing in a rainstorm. First the drops tickle my skin, and then they coat me, refusing to be ignored. Finally, they soak into me, reaching parts of me I don’t think anyone has ever touched.
When dreams turn into reality, will the picture in my mind transfer to paper?
Eleven years of celebrations.
Eleven years of victories and losses.
Eleven years of inside jokes and shared smiles.
Eleven years of helping him raise his daughter as a single father.
He smiles at me and my world brightens.
He ignores me and I forget how to function.
He holds my hand and takes more of my heart.
He leaves and time stops.
We have both lost too much, but am I willing to risk the effects of falling again?