Letting go of you, of us and finding myself.
I sit at this coffee table and lose myself staring blankly at the papers loosely tied to the ends of my old diary. I don’t know what to say. Or write. Or think. I guess i just want to think of you. So i let myself do that. Harvest moon playing softly in the background, piercing through my soul and your picture on this table, none of this makes it easier. All of our memories cloud my thoughts, suffocate and kill them in an instant, as i sit here helplessly trying to hold onto at least one of them, trying to hold the humane part of my being close to me, but I can’t. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the time that’s passed us by that feels like an infinity. Maybe it’s just me sitting here and finally accepting the fact that you’re not here anymore, and it stings my heart in ways I can’t even explain. Or maybe it’s just me craving to feel something.
Anything at all.
And I don’t know which is worse. Coming back to you because i miss you or coming back to you because i miss who i used to be.