Take My Picture

Forget everything else and remember the hue of his eyes and the sound of the waves. Remember sitting on the train, biting your lips, trembling and all those soft sighs just before you pulled into Grand Central. Remember waking up to his poetry and his smile, remember his head on your thighs in the morning sun and try, try, to remember holding him against you, you against him, your bodies pressed together in sticky evening sweat.

Hold on to your heartbeat.

Don’t listen to the drum of a broken, wounded heart, listen to your heartbeat, listen to the sound of your footsteps against the pavement as you ran to him through Midtown. Listen to the wood of your heels against the concrete and the pace of your own breath as you ran into arms.

If nothing else cling to his words. Cling to how he bent his head to meet your gaze, think of holding his face in your hands as he spoke about the air, the heavy thick night air, that could have suffocated you, swallowed you, and carried away. Remember how you wanted to dive into his heart, surge deep into his soul and find that place within him that was a mirror of your very soul.


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