It was real

I want to hold him again.

But I know that I shouldn’t.
It was too complicated.
I don’t love him anymore.
He scares me sometimes.

I miss his hands…
His arms
Wrapped around me so securely
He’d tighten his grip
Until my flesh was against his so completely
So firmly
And he was so deep inside me, so completely
And it felt so real, so true
Like life
Like it was everything
Like that was it—that was why.

I miss that.
I had it with him, though we shared so little else.
I hope I can have it with another.
I hope there is another.

I shouldn’t settle, I’ve been told.
I shouldn’t settle for anything less than absolutely perfect.
But what is absolutely perfect?
Does it exist?
Was it that feeling?

Even if it didn’t extend beyond the flesh
It did extend beyond the flesh
During those euphoric eternities of the flesh.

I remember when the clock would play tricks on us
And moments in which we did nothing but touch
Would turn into hours
And the sun would rise defiantly
And it felt like the most painful bliss.

It never felt so right to be out of touch with night and day
To do that alone is a lonely plight of pain
Disoriented I wish that he would touch me again
And he would if I’d let him
Which is why I can’t forget him.