Monopoly of Memories: His Eyes Never Leave My Mind.
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I wake up startled, feeling uncomfortable, like I am in a place I cannot seem to recognize.
My eyes are usually dry, and I am not sure whether it is from crying or lying awake most of the night staring into blank space. My morning routine consists of trying to place my scattered thoughts together, with his arms wrapped around me and his kisses from my cheek to my neck.
At times, I find the strength to escape his morning breath, pressing my warm feet against the freezing tiles and moistening my mouth as the sun burns my dry eyes. I am not really a morning person, as I usually find myself displeased waking up in a place I did not plan on being.
My coffee is served to me with a kiss on my forehead, black with moist lips, which usually end up wiping off with a somewhat smile, looking down into my mug staring into my reflection. I usually try not to stare into his eyes, since I tend to find my thoughts drifting towards a whole different story. Sometimes imagining myself staring into another set of eyes, the eyes of whom can never seem to leave my mind.
He loves me, and has the sweetest heart, but I mistakenly allowed him into my broken world.
My favorite spot is by the window. I usually sit by the sill for about an hour as he massages my shoulders, comforting me. I will shamefully admit that I sit by the sill to watch the owner of the eyes tattooed into my mind jog by. He probably never notices me, but it puts my mind at ease knowing he is still a part of my daily routine.
I am damaged, unstable, full of unspoken feelings. I was not always this person, but I was drained by allowing disturbing amounts of poison of a selfish lover into my veins, while continuously believing with time I would be immune. I am a strong woman, or at least I was before I met him, and that’s for sure. Every look he fired at me made me weaker, and every touch I felt drained the life out of my body.
Before I met him, I never knew how it felt to be broken from every angle. I was dropped like an antique ornament and left to glue my precious pieces back together, recreating myself.
Sometimes I wonder why I stayed, but then I remember how the rhythm of his soft voice, the glares in his calm eyes, the warmth of his arms wrapped around my cold body and the taste of his mouth on my lips would make me forget about the poison he injected in me.
My last words to him are engraved in my heart.
All I wanted was for him to look at me one last time and tell me our love does not send sparks into the deep dark sky, creating our own star constellations, the stories in our eyes and the harmony in our voices could not replace the sweet sound of a lullaby, and maybe hold me in his arms one last time and tell me the warmth of our affection does not cause birds to chirp as the break of dawn.
My last words to him were asking whether he could hear the sound of my heart breaking and begging him to look deep into my eyes and tell me he did not want to stay.
With my body in the present, but my mind and soul deep in the past, I keep finding myself filling in the gaps of my story with my beloved Adam, unable and unwilling to let go of what once was. Adam. I love saying his name. It brings ease to my heart but tears to my eyes.
My thoughts are always interrupted by overly asked questions, and unwanted kisses. I’ve learned to shut them out, and to continue the screening of our memories in my mind. He left me with nothing but an aching heart and a tortured soul. The evidence of neglect remains, yet I would unquestionably let him kiss my scars all over again, even if they burned and marked deeper.
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Oula Thraya is a Lebanese Canadian currently pursuing an English degree. She is an aspiring author who has a talent for writing about loss, heartbreak, and betrayal. She writes so her readers can relate and feel they are not alone in this heart-rending world. You can follow Oula on Instagram, where she shares her thoughts and experiences in the form of poetry.
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