Dead language

I loved this boy who felt like a train wreck, 

like when my mother was talking about her favourite book with my father and they brought back a dead language. 

I loved him in that when I talked to him, it felt like taking the coat after a long day and being handed a warm cup of tea in May. I loved him in that my heart was hammering my bones in the need to warn me that this boy would bring us a joy that would leave us begging to stop. 

I loved him in that I couldn't stop myself from saying it like it was all the words I knew. It was good morning I love you, you are lovely I love you, today is Monday and I love you. 

I loved him so much that it was bigger than the cells that made my body, that I closed my eyes and all I could see was the green of his eyes. 

I loved him that I could break down and cry between his arms because I could breathe, I could catch my air and not die when he was near. 

I loved him in that my friends told me I had a beautiful smile and that all the others were just fake things that hurt the soul. 

I loved him to the point that my bones shacked when he was near and my soul longed when he was far, it was a love that drove me mad with need and want, with the fear of never feeling like this. Of never seeing myself as he saw me, of never feeling his warm fingers travel from my ribs to my heart or how his smile formed in my neck and ended in my lips. 

I loved him in such a way that I couldn't stop myself from declaring that I’ll die for him, because I loved him as if we had brought back a dead society at two in the morning and I loved him that I couldn't kiss him without giving him my whole life. 

I loved this boy that I never asked for forgiveness when he left as if we never existed. 

TA.