Nicola Cayless.
Looking for light in words.

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If you wait a month or two, I will be able to write you to the point that you won’t even recognise your own eyes. I love your tanned skin, and your brunette mess of hair, and your long fingers when they tap along my forearm, but when I write you, you won’t see any of this. You’ll be short, with a buzz cut and bright blue eyes. But only in a month or two. If you wait a month or two, I will write you as a fictional character, doing things you never did, saying words you never said. You will only hear a faint echo of the past, entwined within the unreal. You will see a vague mirage, something that reminds you of the person you once were, a forgotten memory that stirs something unnameable inside you. If you wait a month or two, I will write you like a storybook character. If you let me write you now, you will see yourself as I do. I would write you right now, exactly as you are. I will immortalise your perfections, glorify your flaws, with words that reflect everything I love and do not love about you. I cannot fictionalise someone who makes my flesh sing and my back arch, the way you do. I cannot write you false now. I tried, I did. I must write you as you are. You are not a storybook character. You are everything that moves within me. You are real. If you wait a month or two, I will write you false. If you wait an hour, I will write you.

I was wrong.

Sometimes, you think you know what you can give someone. You think that your words will have this healing power, that you will be able to give them what they’ve searched for for years. You can list all the ways you’d touch them, caress them, savour them in a hurried breath. You know exactly what you would do to make them happy, because that’s all you really want to do, make them happy. But sometimes, probing words and truthful sentences hurt more than they heal. Sometimes, exposing their wounds to the world and offering to do the stitches for them is more embarrassing than loving. I’m sorry. This was wrong. I have only ever wanted you to be happy. I will keep wanting you to be happy. 

(A post was here, and now it is not.)