I don’t like to admit I still think about him. That I still think about him touching me. That I still think about his smile, his laugh, his back, his hands, his funny sense of humor. It’s one of my dirty little secrets. I thought if I push the memories as deep down inside of me as I could, I could deny they had ever happened. I could ignore the moments we spent together and the touches we shared.
My mind plays tricks on me sometimes. I’ll be out somewhere and think I see him. It stops me dead in my tracks when I do. Part of me wants to run away in fear and part of me wants to run towards him. It always tears me in two when I catch glimpses of his doppelgangers.
There are moments it feels like yesterday and there are moments it feels like a lifetime ago. I have grown and changed so much since then and people who knew me then tell me I’m a different person now. I have mixed emotions about that possibility. A part of me wishes I could still be that person, wild and fancy free. Taking risks much bigger than myself and playing with fire. The problem with that is I have more to lose now. I worry about losing all that I’ve built for myself since him, the least of which is the walls I’ve built around myself and my heart.
I still feel his hands on me sometimes. Large, warm, male hands. He had lovely hands. I still feel the thud, thud, thud of his hands and his tools. I still feel his breath on my skin, hot and heavy.
I still feel the tears I shed for him, fresh as if they were just spilling forth. I told myself long ago I wouldn’t shed any more tears for him. Only time will tell if I stick to that promise.
I long for him … even now.