This morning I got up and I saw a fleeting image of your face, if only for a second
It's been long since we last spoke. Too long in fact, though, I'm not entirely sure if we should ever speak again. I have tried to move on with my life, as I know you have. But sometimes, just sometimes, when the nights are still, when the crickets dissapear and the air is damp, I cannot help but wonder "how do you do it?".
I never had any words to coherently describe what I'm going through, and I can't help but wonder, is it perhaps because you hadn't offered me any words to begin with. No words of anger, no words of sadness. Nothing. It was almost as if you were a dream, and I had woken up just to find you dissolving into complete and utter nothingness...
But you're anything but nothingness. You're like the mist. I could scream at you and you would not react. I could beat my fists into your body, and you would simply dissispate. But you would always appear. Always, even if it is only in the abandoned corner of my bedroom, or the recessess of my mind. Always, if only because I secretly long for it.
What we had was short, fleeting. But it was real. Real enough for me to have completely surrendered myself. Real enough to make me believe in such childish things like love and fairy-tales. And even though it was brief, no longer than the time it takes to fall in and out of a dream, it was real.
I tell people you are dead to me. And it is not entirely a lie. Because, sometimes the Dead can stick to the minds and hearts of the Living, stronger and harder than anyone or anything can.
So here I am writing this, even as you drift further and further away in that unknown world of yours, all memory of our shared time most likely long forgotten. Some people will ask me, why do I write this,
well the answer is simple.
I write this because I still remember. I write this because I still hope. Because no matter how many times I have written your name on a piece of paper, and burnt it on those silent, damp nights - as I have done for the past 364 days - your essence still pervades my thoughts.
But it helps, and with each passing day, each time Ithe flame devours the letters of your name, I leave behind a little bit of you. Just a little, so that by now I would have bits of you spread over the past 364 days of this year and the one before.
But you are vast. And you are wide. And there are so many more than 364 pieces of you that I have not even spread.
And so for now I will close my eyes, even as I hold your name above the white candle, and I will allow myself to wonder;
Do you ever think of me...have you ever?
PEACE OUT
