Dear... Lost or Found?
You still know me.
People don’t change that quickly.
You are still a part of me.
That sits, still, inside my wandering mind.
You are still the road without a map, the time without a clock.
An alchemy of head, and heart and soul.
Everyone else was grey. The rest of the world was grey.
And I think we are both still wanting to be wanted.
That’s what life is, isn’t it?
Sleep. Bliss. Nausea. Pain. Sleeplessness.
Vitality. Want. Denial. Acceptance.
Abysses of absence.
The presence of absence. Even now.
Wrong side of the mirror. Blindfolded.
These were your words.
Predictions, perhaps.
A tree with deepening roots, but whose branches could not grow.
Nourished but constricted. Shackled.
Fumbling through darkness of unchartered places.
“The simple arithmetic of happiness can act as a crude compass.”
I love your words. I still read them.
And the poems and journals you gave me.
Thank you.
I am so sorry.