We were always destined for a sequel

You loved me.

I know you did. It was evident before you were even mine to lose. The late night talks, the 7 AM insecurity, the moment when the world stopped the first time I curled up into your arms. I know you felt it too. Whether you were convinced the icy winds and ever changing nature of us would freeze all possibility, or whether you were lying to yourself when you said it's easy to say goodbye, I'll never know. What I do know, is you sent me flowers on my birthday, with an obscure quote from my favourite deceased poet, and a sweet good morning text. I didn't deserve you. I tried, so many times, to call things off. I really did. I had every intention of telling you to leave that humid August night. Yet the moment you walked out of that bar, cigarette in hand and pulled me into your arms like you'd never left, I was in love. I'd probably been in love with you for longer than I'd known, but there's not much I can do about that now. All my cards are on the table. You reached out, plucked me from my depression, and made me fall in love with life, myself, and those damning blue eyes and cheeky smile you'd give me when you knew I'd caught you red handed.

One day you took me to a bookstore. A dangerously romantic place for two writers refusing to fall in love out loud. This day in particular, breaks my heart a bit. You bought me that gold plated Edgar Allan Poe collection that I couldn't bear to leave behind. It's a simple enough gesture, buying a woman a book. But for me, it was everything. I don't ask for things often, I pride myself on my ability to be self sufficient. But you broke me, twice, with simply a vase of flowers, and a book of poetry.

You can tell me that you don't think you love me anymore, but I know you did at one time. Perhaps a little more than you'd care to admit, as self reflection and defensive walls are a tough opponent during long distance romance. You can't convince me otherwise though.

The way your hands traced my curves, the way your fingers brushed my hair gently away from my face when I had yet another headache, and the way you look at me from across the table, I know you love me.

Maybe I didn't show it, and that's why we've ended up here. How I've ended up without you. But I realize it now. You loved me more than either of us were prepared for, and my love for you shook my world to the core.

As I thumb aimlessly through these golden pages, I feel my skin yearn for yours. My heart is heavy. My mind is exhausted, and my hands are full.

I'd do it all again.