I was loved - trust me I know.

So I write this for him, for you.

Darling, it’s not that I don’t think about you anymore, because I do.

I think about you all the time, when it’s late at night and the world is asleep, when all the stars sing me their lullabies and I know you hear them too.

I think about you in the mornings so cool and crisp as I wake to my own reflection and hide the imperfections you saw as treasures away, locked shut by the swift brushing of pink rouge across my cheeks.

I think about you when it rains, when it’s sunny or windy. When I’m laughing, crying, excited, courageous or scared. I think about you on the train, as I’m walking, eating - breathing.

Darling, it’s not that I don’t miss you anymore, because I do.

I miss you at night in my empty bed after I’ve tucked myself in because you’re not here to pull my blankets over me, kiss me gently and cuddle me to sleep with your silent lullabies.

I miss you when the sun rises and there’s not a note beside my bed to remind me I’m beautiful or the message in my inbox to make me laugh from joy.

I miss you every time it rains because I remember our first kiss fell after much anticipation under a wet sky, tears from heaven as we called it.

I miss you when I’m laughing, all the times we would watch endless stand-up comedy late at night by candlelight , curled up together on that tiny couch to nothing but sound of laughter and each others’ heartbeats.

I miss your silly work uniform; the vest and tie and how you’d visit on your way home every single night to simply run in to my arms and steal a kiss before the day was over.

I miss that sparkle in your golden brown eyes every single time we united again, your smile from ear to ear with a cheesy glisten and how soft your lips would feel against mine. The way you’d twist my hair ever so gently and tuck it away then gently lift my chin to yours.

I miss the music we’d listen to, the hours and hours of Jon Schmidt together turned up so loud like nothing else mattered but the sweet sounds of piano and violin. How romantic as we’d lay there looking to the stars out my bay window, whispering silent sweet ‘i love yous’.

I miss how you’d take me to university with you, include me in your tutorials, feed me banana lollies and water and help me walk up the hills when I was struggling. How we sipped hot green teas and dined at the sushi train together in the rain.

I miss the way you always took care of me, helped me when I was being sick, reminded me to take my medication, would spend 8 or more hours with me in emergency every time whilst I was violently sick, put me to bed and cuddle me to sleep and always ask how I was feeling. I loved how I was still an angel in your eyes.

I miss the way it felt cooking for you for the first time, slow dancing in complete darkness to the sounds of only Norah Jones and the drops of water on the roof, holding each other up so firmly we though we’d never let go.

Well darling, I hate that we’ve ruined so many things.

I hate that I can’t go past Carseldine station to work every day without thinking about the night after the football when I wrote you that poem whilst you were working, you picked me up from the station as I struggled as always to make my way down that dreaded ramp. You ran all the way up it, pushed through the crowds and swept me up off my feet into your arms with a smile I’d never witnessed before. I couldn’t control the goosebumps that shot all up and over my body.

I hate that whenever I think of Toowoomba all I can think of is our road trip - our first official outing as a couple and how handsome you looked dressed up. All the cute photos on the picnic mountain and the pit stops along the way, or how we bored everyone with our classical tunes, constantly giggling and smiling at each other across the front seat.

I hate that our favorite book store Borders is where we spent so much of our time, wondering endlessly hand in hand picking up books and design albums/folios, how you’d always order the masai sized lattes and finish first over my almost miniscule sized grande. Now even the scent of Zaraffas coffee or a simple glance at a Borders store makes me weak at the knees.

I hate that I can remember the exact date you finally told me that you loved me, how perfect and precious it was. I remember how beautiful you looked, and the tear in your eyes. The most sincere return of smile when I said ‘I love you too’..

I hate that I haven’t been near or to the beach since - you know. Anywhere where the waves are crashing, seagulls squawking or children playing reminds me of all the hours we spent talking on the waterfront, walking boardwalks and laughing and talking so carefree about ourselves and each other. Lost in the happiness we’d finally found.

I hate that the cinema reminds me of our first date after my rehearsals late that tuesday night. We saw ‘Conviction’ because you knew I studied Law and we’d never hung out outside of work before, we stayed up til sunrise in the car park talking with each other, singing and making fools of ourselves without even touching once.

I hate how you didn’t come to my shows when you promised you’d be at every single performance because well…

I hate how you used to want to drive me everywhere, and you did. It’s just not the same now when my friends drive me.

See darling, it’s not like I don’t think about you, miss you - it’s just that I do it all too much and I hate that I still love you.

I think I am most scared, that I will always think of you. 
Not because we’ll be together again, because we never will be and that’s a sad thing, but I am scared because of what could’ve been had our moment not been stolen from us.
I hope you remember me.