I could feel it beating against my hand; a tattoo that has given me so much comfort these past couple of days. I could reach out my hand and feel him there; warm, strong and alive. He has been my anchor; always there and reassuring me that everything was fine. That everything will be fine if it wasn’t.
Waking up next to him became my favorite part of the day. Nothing made my heart happier than seeing that sleepy smile and getting a kiss, morning breath and all 😉 How he would always convince me to stay in bed a little bit longer and I agreed, just to have him wrap his arms around me. Being able to snuggle with him became the most important part of my day. Making that boy smile made my day worthwhile. Even doing the dishes became more fun, with him around.
Now it’s not only my mum’s house but my own that holds memories of him and I; memories of us.
They’re every where I look. There’s no escaping them; pressing down on me from all angles.
I keep looking to the door, expecting him to walk into my bedroom any minute with that goofy, knowing smile spreading across his face. I know he isn’t coming though and that hurts more than I can explain. I don’t think I can without crying. Already tears are threatening to spill down my cheeks. How silly is that? The boy has barely left the city and I’m already (almost) crying over him. I’m dreading what I’m going to be like when he’s finally out of the country, out of my reach.
I never thought someone’s heartbeat could mean so much to me but it’s become familiar. I know his heartbeat as well as my own. Lying my head on his chest, wrapping my arm around him and holding him close; it became a reason to place secret kisses anywhere I could reach. The familiar tattoo would play into my ear and everything would melt away. It was just him and I – wrapped up in our own little bubble, separate from the outside world.
It was nice but he has gone and I’m left behind, struggling to adjust to being alone. Again. That’s the weird thing about living with someone; they become so much of your everyday routine, you don’t even consider what it would be like without them until you have no other option. It’s not good – let me tell you that. It’s the little things you miss. Those tiny, inconsequential things that you don’t really consider until they don’t happen any more.
The little things do matter.
// A knowing smile as he sees you biting your lip.
// Holding the door open for you.
// Staying up late to watch a movie that isn’t in his first language.
// Going to the university with you then chickening out of going to the lecture and waiting in the library until it’s over.
// Helping you cook dinner.
// Driving you from one home to the other.
// Carrying your bags for you.
// Asking you if there’s anything you want or need before he gets into bed.
// The heartbeat; strong and steadily beating beneath your palm.
It’s the small things that make me love him.
A few of you might be confused to see this post for a second time, but this post will be a ‘first’ for most of you. I wrote this post when I was ‘with’ a French guy. It was two years ago now, but it still gets to me. No one really knows this, but, once upon a time, I was two weeks from jumping on a plane to follow him around the world. How batshit crazy is that? I was that prepared to give up everything I know for one guy. Ah, young love 😉 So naïve.
That being said, I am so grateful to have met him (and his friends) over that summer. They are some of the best people I have ever met, even though they’re French.
I can so see you guys rolling your eyes. You know who you are. They made me open my eyes to so many wonderful things and I’m just glad that I can still call them friends. I’m actually planning on studying abroad in 2016. So hey, I’ll be seeing you guys in two 😉 Consider this your fair warning.