1825.

Like water, you slipped through my fingers as I remained transfixed, knowing that I was changed forevermore. The sand in our hourglass had run out and thus, so had our time, as I still anxiously await the day that closure finally washes ashore. Some days, I cannot put into words how much I miss your breath against my neck or the way that you would save me, whenever I found myself shipwrecked. On other days, the electricity between us would leave me shell shocked, and feeling less lost than found, as I plead for my own salvation, hoping I would find the strength to abandon our battleground. Our holy lovers' war had left us both bereft, as we tried to catch our breath and circumvent our inevitable deaths. Stop loss syndrome as we both returned to our respective lives alone, attempted to survive, with the hopes of making it on our own. You took the road less traveled by and diverged creating your own path, as I started to repeat patterns that I should have buried in the past. Drugs and alcohol again became the friends in whom I would endlessly confide, as I repressed my emotions further, refusing to swallow my petulant, precocious pride. Nonetheless my heart thawed out, no longer Arctic icy anymore, as you helped me set fire to my fears, quickly becoming all that I could adore. I naively confused you for the cure to the cancer that ate away at my confidence, saw you as the solution which resulted in my sad dependence. Now that I have grown, and see that we were never suited for each others' tainted thrones, I harbour no hostility, and attempt to end my callous desire to clone the scent of your cologne. It really is better to have loved and lost, and similarly more preferable to have fought the war and paid the costs, than to never have loved at all. I am thankful that I did not remain oblivious and know what it feels like to have someone attempt to tear down my many walls. Even though there is still shrapnel buried in my bruised and bandaged heart, I would do it all again, just to hear your references to Descartes. With wounded wings this war has broken down my door, if all is fair in love and hate, why are you still impossible for me to abhor?