The last girl

My life is over. My body is broken. My mind is like Swiss cheese. Somehow, my heart keeps beating.

There's nothing else I want to do. My life has been a comical disaster, penetrated at times by both the storms of life and pure magic. I have loved and lost love. I have fought and fucked. But, what happened two years ago when I knew I was undeniably in love with the loveliest woman I've ever known was like a revelation — like being reborn. It was like seeing the world for the first time. The songs of birds in the trees were sweeter. The cold of winter much more bearable. The smell of her flesh was like an intoxicant. Simple things, even, like the way her hair fell over her ears was like I had never seen anything so beautiful before. She had her way with me in a way previously thought impossible. She ran through me with a freedom I had never given anyone before. The whole thing was as powerful as it was brief. It was only a few months, but I will feel it the rest of my life.

She held my attention like she controlled my fate. And, indeed, she did. I wantonly shared my life with her and received the same from her. We fed a fire in each other that should have foretold the ending. So many nights we shared bold plans and promises it seemed we were destined to fulfill. It was like a daily rehearsal of wedding vows. When it all came crashing down — when the tables turned on us — we saw it as brief and vaporous, wondering if it had really happened. My heart bears witness that it did. It's the only thing that remains touched by her. I feel her there every day. 

I will never love as hard or as beautifully as I did her. I didn't manufacture that love. It was a gift. I don't know where it came from. I didn't deserve it, so I didn't overly complain when it was taken from me nearly two years ago. It seemed too good to be true. The only upside to losing such a beautiful love is I know I will never again hurt as much as I did when it was taken away. My soul cried out with sounds I never thought it capable of producing. It was a hurt like no other, a brokenness never seen before. And this comes from a man who has known untold heartache. I built bulwarks and booby traps to protect myself, but for her, I broke all the rules. She had free rein. She walked in like she owned the place. And she did. I gave her everything. 

It was the strongest, purest love I've ever felt this side of heaven. It was like a movie or a novel or a story that's too good to be true. I often laughed at the ridiculous of it. She had me. Oh, did she have me.  

Losing her was a fitting end to a tumultuous time in my life. In my mind's eye, I can still see myself fumbling with her, wondering how I could ever treat her the way she deserved. She was always too good for me, a fact only reinforced by immersing myself in her. Losing her was like losing something I never wanted to live without. I am still so in love with her. It's not a rapacious love as it was before. It's a roughed-over version, but it still marks her absence and prods my brain to do something — anything — to get her back. But she is gone, heart.

Two years ago, I remember kicking stones in front of my house and watching the water trickle by as I held a phone to my ear and told her the obvious truth: if we didn't make it, she would be the last woman I loved. I didn't need to say that. It was evident from the start. She's the one I want. If I can't have her, then I'll survive. And I'll keep the memories of her close as my years advance and life trickles by me just like the water that day. I'll keep her warm in the fleshy confines of my chest. I'll push her down where only I know she exists. And she will stay there until I die. If I could take her with me after I die, I would, but I didn't make the rules. 

She was perfection to me. She was the woman I've always wanted. For a millisecond of my life, I had her. I really, really had her. She was mine, and I was on top of the world. I am jealous of a man who had her so completely yet treated her so unwholesomely it breaks my heart. He had the perfect woman — a rare gift — just handed to him. He won the jackpot with her, yet treated her like she was any other woman. No, sir, she is made of rare things you will never find anywhere else. I am jealous of her children who get to behold her face every day. I'm jealous of her family because she will always belong to them. I'm jealous of her skies because they fill her days with beauty and touch her with rain. I'm jealous of the walls of her house because they hold her tight within them. I'm jealous of the windows of her house because she turns toward them with her big, beautiful eyes. I'm jealous of her bed because it holds her warm little body, because it cradles her to sleep and hears her breathing in the night, her little sounds in the darkness. Most of all, I'm jealous of the man who held her two years ago. If I could relive that moment again, I would. Over and over again until I die. I would forego food and water and partake of that moment as my sustenance. 

Yes, she is the last girl for me. If the mere memory of her can shine so brightly in my mind, then I know no other woman could possibly compete with her in my heart.