Saturday, December 7, 2013
December is foggy mornings out on the lake, and sitting aimlessly on the windowsill, watching the clouds pass by. Not much has changed in the past 3 months. The floorboards creak in the afternoon, I am still afraid of ghosts, and some days, it is hard just to leave the house. Everything is quite and peaceful, and it is enough to drive anyone to pieces.
Friday, November 8, 2013
I remember our last encounter with remarkable clarity. You and me, sitting quietly on the playground in the lingering summer night, watching the moon set over rows of paper houses. We didn’t talk much because there wasn’t anything left to be said. What we have, we’ve always had, and neither time nor space will ever change that. This, I have always known. And yet, frighteningly, I find myself forgetting things about you that I never wished to forget, like, the shape of your silhouette against the window and the precise colors of your eyes in the fading twilight.
That was one hundred and twenty-six days ago. I never dreamed that you might not come back, that you might not want to come back. I do not think I ever believed you were truly gone, not even when it was finally October and I was sitting alone on a bench by the lake, so lost and so numb that even the streetlamps could not guide me home. I was waiting, you know, for you to rescue me as you have always done, so I could finally say the words lingering on the tip of my tongue. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Lately, I have been sleeping with the window open at night, just so I can hear the cars on the highway, 30 stories below. It makes it easier to lie awake and pretend we are back on the road again. But sometimes, on those particularly unbearable evenings, I walk down to the docks and wait for the moon to rise. In those moments of solitude, I think about all the things I will never get used to: waking up in the morning, sitting on the roof alone, staring at the starless skies, the gnawing hunger that never seems to go away.
I wonder what I was thinking, leaving you and all those other puzzle pieces behind, leaving me with all these empty spaces between my fingers. I could pretend, you know, that it is less lonely this way, to know that we are both pulling on this thread that stretches around the world. And I could take comfort, knowing that somewhere on another roof, in another city, you might be watching the same tide rise and fall against the sand. But if I were to be honest with myself for once, it's not quite the same. So I find myself in this unprecedented situation where I am trying to learn how to forget, and it leaves me with the worst feeling of all.