It wasn’t that I minded John kissing me.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
But there was just one microscopic problem.
It didn’t feel right.
I knew that everytime John pressed his lips against mine, I waited for them to feel like James’ lips.
Waiting for them to taste like him.
And when John held me? Sure, it felt nice, but.. Still wrong.
Because I was waiting for James’ arms to slip down to my waist. For the smell of James’ cologne, or even the faint scent of his shampoo.
And maybe John didn’t see this.
But I did.
Maybe he did, and wasn’t planning on ruining anything. Because I had finally stopped crying.
Because my sobs were quieted at the moment.
I was a fraction happier than I was this morning.
But not much. Oh, not much.
The pain of a broken heart never quite goes away. One can never say, “Oh. I loved him so much.”
You never stop loving someone. If you can say “loved”, and mean it, then you were never in love to begin with.
And I was still in love with James.
Deeply in love..