David
I’ve been putting off writing about
you
for months now.
I didn’t want to do it,
because I felt that
if I write about you,
it will confirm the fact that
you
are in my past now,
and I don’t want to let go.
But despite that,
you are too beautiful
to go
unwritten.
So I’m facing the facts,
and writing you down.
We met near the end of spring,
just days after my birthday.
I watched you
from the corner of my eye.
You caught my interest.
There was something in the air around you.
Something in the contrast of your features.
Your summer sky eyes
and your winter night hair.
You made me fall,
near the end of spring.
This is hurting me already.
I wanted to speak to you
so badly,
but I hadn’t the courage.
Luckily, an old lady introduced us
while trying to make you socialize.
You told me that
the “being alone thing”
was already yours,
and I told you
I was doing it first.
But even though we both did
the “being alone thing”,
we stuck together
the whole day.
We did the “alone thing”
together.
I liked it better that way.
I don’t want to go on,
but you deserve to be written.
You put a smile on my face.
I bet you could have saved me.
I haven’t smiled in a while now.
We talked for hours about
everything
anything
nothing at all.
But you made me feel like
my words
were important.
No matter how much
they weren’t.
No one else does that.
I bet you could have saved me.
It felt like a lifetime in those hours.
We had become friends.
But at the same time it felt like minutes.
You could do that somehow.
It was like you existed
outside of time,
and as time goes on
I think more and more
that maybe
you do.
It’s been half a year since I last saw you.
It’s almost winter now.
The nights remind me of you.
I still miss you,
But it feels different than
how I miss other people.
I miss other people like
they’re gone.
I miss you like
you’re pulling me.
I don’t know where you are
or what you’re doing,
But every day I hope to see your face.
Your face gave me hope.
I could really use some hope these days.
I bet you could have saved me.
But it’s been six months.
I never see you.
Sometimes I even wonder if I made you up.
But either way,
I remember that day.
I’ll always remember that day.
Our day.
Now that I’ve finished, I regret this. It doesn’t do you justice.
Maybe you should have stayed unwritten.
Too late now.
