To lose you was a strange, sobering strangulation. It was winding and meaningless and terribly persistent. Losing you.
I clung to your fingertips as we parted ways, a desperate attempt to keep you close. But you slipped from my grip, stumbling off the earth’s edge. Whether it was with purpose or clumsy neglect, I could not tell.
Still, I cannot tell.
Long were the days after. Heavy. Memories clung to my clothes, skin, hair, sticking with the pasty glue of our kindergarten days. It was whimsical melancholy to peer back in time. Bittersweet. A puddle of golden light in a desert plain.
I wander through our moments often. Its a shame there exists nothing but an ink-stained bear, a cheesy poem and a couple of photos to speak of us.
We’re no more than strangers now. I avert my gaze whenever I spot you at the station, a deception of the smallest consequence. It feels wrong, but I have nothing more than a hesitant smile and small hello to offer. How I wish there was more.
Maybe in university we will cross paths again, exchange long-lost hugs. I would list all the wonderful and strange things that you have missed. You could recount all the lovely and colourful things that I have missed.
But I only lean on hollow hopes and empty daydreams. Pearly white ghosts that vanish with pointed thought.
And thus, I continue to wallow in small puddles of longing, waiting for chance encounters that will never happen. It chips away at the edges of my soul, just a little, but I will survive.
You will likely never see this.
Even so, I hope you enjoyed my little letter to you,