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There was always something off about him.
He kept smiling, he kept joking, being this wonderful spark of joy to everyone. He would look at me, he would rush his hand through my hair, he would kiss my neck and whisper sweet nothings to my ears. But there was always a hint of lingering sadness in his eyes, there was always something weighing heavy on his heart. He made sure no one knew, but after so much time together I could tell there’s something wrong only by looking.
There were days like today when the sun was high up in the sky and everything was just warm and light when he was more open about his feelings. Not to the point of speaking about them though, that would be too much to expect. He would just allow himself to be openly sad, allow me to see him somewhat vulnerable and shattered. He would sit on the floor facing the window and just stare into it like the world around just stopped as he could just go back in time to those better days when he was around. Sometimes he would tangle his arms around him almost in mockery of a hug, sometimes he would sit motionless, like an empty doll. I tried to reach out to him, but it never worked, and then I learned to leave him alone, drowned in his own thoughts. He never allowed himself to stay like that for long anyway, shaking off whatever he was thinking about in less than it took me to finish my tea. Sometimes Buddy would come to him, nuzzling his furry head into his lap or licking on his face and then he would smile, sometimes even laugh in response to the dog’s obvious affection. And after that, he would act as nothing happened, like he wasn't an empty shell longing for something long gone. I keep pretending not to notice, watching him only from the distance, hoping that maybe he’ll finally be able to overcome his grief.
It was all in vain though. Both of us knew he was already a lost cause.
Sometimes, when the time is right, he comes to me and asks for my attention without words. He touches me carefully on those days like my body is not able to take anything else than the most gentle, faint caress. Then he would kiss me with his eyes closed and let me touch him in return, carefully and gently as well, as if he’s touched for the first time. It always hurts to see him like this, knowing that he’s thinking of someone else, someone that should be there, in my place. I care too much to stop though, hurting both of us in that way, but what else could be done? I cannot turn back time, so at least I can give him a shred of what it could be if things would happen differently. He’s quiet on those days, almost only silent pleads leaving his mouth. Then, when we finish, he just lies on his side, curled and not allowing me to touch anymore, his eyelids still shut tightly. Pretending is fine for him only up to this point.
After, when he lies bare and spend, he’s finally true to himself and to the only man he ever loved. I don’t know what he thinks, but I know him well enough to guess.
His soul is always with him.