journalborderline

 

 

J'aimerais te serrer dans mes bras juste une dernière fois. Une dernière nuit à faire l'amour et se dire qu'on s'aime. Le penser réellement. Je veux goûter tes lèvres, sentir la chaleur de nos corps nus qui s'entre-mêlent. Juste une dernière fois, je veux ton visage, pour que cette fois, je me l'encre dans l'esprit...

 

Et que je ne l'oublie pas.

 

 

 

December is a sad month for me. It hasn't always been like that though. When I was a kid I used to love December because that meant Christmas and gifts and lots of food and the beauty of the first snow falling down on the city of Montreal. I used to love it so much. I used to get so excited for December. 

Now when I think of December, it is only pain and nostalgia. It's a memory of the the month in which I fell in love with him. The only boy who made me feel like it was okay for me to be me. The boy who's smile would warm and touch my heart in ways that one else ever did before. He was prettier than the first snow in this big city that I love the most in the world. His lips tasted better than anything I have ever tasted and his presence only was the greatest gift I ever got. 

Now the first snow just reminds me of how cold and lonely winter feels. It reminds me of that night I met him. I see again the bar, I see him smile, I see the appartement where he used to live. I remember his mother. I remember us crossing path with my sister at the restaurant. It all seems stupid for other people but I don't care. It was the first night I met him, yet it felt like we had known each other forever. It was so easy to be with him. 

 

But now, he's gone. He is just a memory. He lied, let me down in every way possible and left me alone in the coldest of months. December is the reminder of what I lost, the perfect boy that I almost had. 

 

Every year in December, I will cry everyday and miss him everyday. I will sit home, hoping that he will somehow find his way back to me and that we'll figure things out. December is the reminder of this lie I tell myself to make the pain more bearable. But December is unbearable. I hate it just has much has I used to love it. And I hate him as much as I still love him.