Superman

We loved each-other with an intensity that was unmatched by others. It was young giggly love. It was passionate and exciting love. We loved each-other until it smothered us. It was love that brought explicit joy, deep and unwavering commitment, timeless satisfaction, but slow and powerful resentment, disappointment, neediness, and at the very end, our love formed a painful truth. We were unable to be without each other but unable to live our own lives with each-other. We were meant to be forever, never. He was my kryptonite. And that was a problem, because it meant, to some extent, for the rest of my life, I would have a connection with him, a bond, that is permanent and essentially helped write the history of who I am. So I owed him. Because without kryptonite, there is no Superman. I do not know how else to love, than how I loved him. It is all I know, and at times, all I want to know. Because our love felt like a miracle. I believed in love, and he believed in me. And that was enough. Until it wasn’t.