memories and wishes

I don’t know how long your hair is, anymore, but I still run my fingers through it, when my eyes close and I can drift off to you.

The sound of your laugh wakes me, as I chase you in a dream. You never stop running from me, but never so fast that I can’t see you, just out of my reach.

The white noise of cubicle circulation broken by strangers' boring voices surrounds me. I would rather be wrapped in your voice. Everything else is cold and asinine compared to your lovely timbre. If I could just hear you say my name . . . .

When you rebuilt my heart, just before I was about to silence it’s useless beating, you left pieces of yourself there, as mine was too far gone.

Parts of hearts, smiles, patience, words, care; all braided into a shawl I keep wrapped around it.

That selflessness connects us, you know. I am afraid that you are afraid of it. This beautiful, glimmering strand of glass is my only connection to you. A Prince Rupert’s drop, which carries the sound of our heartbeats to one another. Sometimes it carries more than you are comfortable with, I know, but it is all I know of you any more, except for wishes and memories.

I sit in my assigned square and I dream that I am your Mulder, and you my Scully, taking on the world; more than the sum of our parts.

I know what I represent, to you. I know I complicate your life. I know you don’t want me to tell you that I love you.

Madly.

I don’t know what to do, except to keep listening to your heartbeat across the nether, and dream that some day I can feel it on my cheek, beating through your ivory skin.

Even if I can’t force my way into your life, I pray every day. I pray you reach out to me. I pray that memories and wishes will some day no longer be needed.

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