One year ago this day was the the last time I saw you. I can still vividly remember every nuance of every detail of that meeting. I dressed carefully and made myself up, in the aim to impress you, and I was not disappointed. I remember how you held my gaze, appraised me with your eyes, fiery with passion, your lips quivered as you touched mine. I always loved the way you smell, clean and masculine like everything that you are. You gave me a bunch of pink roses that night, together with a pink stuffed rabbit I now kept at the back of my closet. For months I held on that stuffed animal, everytime I missed you. I wore your favourite perfume that night, Incanto Shine by Ferragamo. I know for a fact that you want me, you were very eloquent with that. Your touch evoked wanton abandon in me, forcing me to cast aside my inhibitions, surrendering to the call of your desire, to your touch, to your strong willed dominance. What went wrong was my fault. I could not give what you want. Everything that you believe about me are enveloped with lies. False promises of my doing.
Yet, as much as I do not want to, I had fallen for you -- hard. You were the only one who stood by me, in every tempest, and you calmed my storms. You were the only one who understood me, our conversations bring such joy, such satisfaction, we were never out of something to talk about. That was something. Yet, I cannot bring to say that I love you. I can throw those words anytime to anyone, say it non chalantly as if it is the most normal thing to say. But with you, I held it back, afraid that I might be imagining things, afraid that I might be saying something I would regret. But not saying it gave me frustrations now. But it is all too late. I pushed you away and I guess I had ran out of chances anymore. You have been patient for a long time and I had abused that. You have been there but I took it for granted. And I cannot stand the silence anymore. I must go for the sake of my sanity, of my pride.
As the old adage goes, I love you, good bye.