Monday, October 10, 2016

My darling, 

I 've made serious effort to resent any memory of you, of you with me, or... whatever it was, but I can't get myself around to it. I can't get angry or find you fault. 

And I cannot  name this a weakness of character, if you did it perhaps you consider yourself strong-er? 

You are nowhere to be touched or found. I cannot blame you - I tried that too- but I wouldn't be myself if I did. 

I tried to understand why you let go but that didn't help either. Guessing, no matter how good one is or how strong their intuition can only get half way to what really is. Maybe I came on too strong, maybe I projected too much, maybe I don't know how to gently treat people, maybe I'm a fool, maybe I perceive things as more vital than they really are, or can become ... I came up with thousands of maybes... but... no matter how strict I got with myself I can't blame myself either. It always takes two.

Your reasons are your own and the only thing I can do is trust them, trust you along with them, I mean. I can't get mad at you for being who you want to be, even if that won't ever include me in your pictures. 

Sometimes I miss you so hard. The ghost of us I call it. Because for a while (that now seems like the smallest while in the world) there was an "us". Sometimes I'm lonely just for you, no-one else amongst millions of people but you. 

In Greek, we don't say I miss you ... we say: mu lipis which is ... you are missing from me.

... your air and your ideas and your smile and the sound of your voice, and your accent on every single word you ever uttered, and the music it created upon leaving your mouth, and its brush against my frontal lobe as you paused for a moment or two. 

I'm forgetting things now, slowly ... 

I could pick up just a few things from the vault of memory, your pictures, your driving, your music, your pursing the lips, and that red spot that says "I'm stressed and a tad crazy", your white teeth, your movements, the color of your eyes when you're sleepy, or when the sun hits your face, how you inhale and exhale your smoke, the way you drink as if you're dying of thirst and how your lips are always wet afterwards, or the way you eat your food a bit hasty, or how you fold your arms when you turn to sleep and how your fingers slowly get lose , submit to gravity and hesitantly open up to a childlike "now you can touch me I'm innocent now". 

I have forgotten how you smell like and I can't forgive myself for that, but I'm thankful that I at least wrote of it when your scent was fresh. 

I have forgotten the taste of your kiss and the weight of your hand in mine, but I think it was soft like the kisses themselves. 

I don't want to forget your voice , I don't _ I don't want it to be lost among the noises and the voices of thousands of people, but I can't have it heard again, can I? 

What I do have are phrases isolated, the beautiful ones that made my heart bend with joy when spoken or written. That's what we all do, we isolate the happy moments. But what can one do with them but free them from memory, allow them  to get hushed in time? 

Be safe my Sun. Be good. 

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