Him

I hate it when a sense of smell, a certain song, or even a kind of place, would remind me of him.
Because then, something inside of me would burn, and merely breathing became hard to do.
Because then, memories of his laugh and all the 'what ifs' would come flooding back in my head; only extracting the pain in my chest.

He wasn't your usual bad boy with the leather jacket. He wasn't your typical, broodingly handsome, tall, dark and stranger, kind of guy.
He was like a colorful sunset on a lonely Sunday afternoon; peaceful, beautiful, and full of hope, yet still a filled with a hiddem sadness of some sort. His smile was wide and his laugh was contagious. His eyes sparkled with life and he spent his days chasing all the opportunities of his youth. He was never still and his thirst for adventure never seemed to stay fueled; he was never in one place for too long.

I guess that was why it never lasted, him and I.

While the logical and insecure part of me expected and knew of the day he'd eventually leave, it still broke me when he actually took the steps to walk away, and didn't look back.
Not once.
Yet, my heart -my foolish little heart- still holds on to the hope of seeing him again. Of holding his gaze longer than a mere breath, and finding something in those dark orbes of his that words wouldn't be able to say. Of spotting a glimpse of emotion -of something- that would tell me there really was love for me in his heart.
At least once.

Once.
A past term that my heart could accept and expect now.
My poor, naive heart didn't fully realize that small things from the past are eventually forgotten; it was only when his eyes held mine for less than a second with nothing but void on them, I had understood.