Time

Chère

“Something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long.”

This will never be the sweetest letter written to someone special, I know. But by dint of good Fate, I have made a very sweet mistake—that is, when I found you. 

 It was the last time I dreamt of you—a tale I’d rather keep to myself. And yet, last as it was, you have imparted me a smile that turned the dream into such a very…sweet…memory. You ceased not from crossing my mind—not after that, not even before. But always. Always… You have built a home for yourself deep within this sorry heart of mine that even when we no longer talk, I’ll always long for you, and wish to converse with you. 

 gw

I never meant to care, I swear. Never thought I would. But I did, anyway. 

gwapoa

 I do not wish to contend for your attention, yet truly I long for your affection; but here I’ll stop. Dear, just know that it is not because I decided to stop caring–I can never stop such a strong feeling; rather, that it’s because I do not have the power to, and I know it’ll only destroy both me and you. Already I have failed myself—I do not wish to fail you. 

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2:42 am

832b288bcdcc0722e1c5f546b930c23f‘twas an occasion marked by the absence of sound; a calm, wispy night. Here and there bursts of laughter ensue, strangers gather ‘round tables and talk of things I know not what; there’s that old dame with an infant on her arms—a smile she bestowed, and vanished. Whilst I… Oh, I am with these faceless friends, with whom I know not what to say; they seem to be talking all at once. Across there he is—strange, but I know. Hell, he must be having such a good time; a smile slowly creeps up my veins. Everything seems to go on forever—the muted glam, senseless and faceless friends which, amidst, only his face registers on my mind. Then, alas! It happened so fast—a tumult caused by that man. I know him—but he does not know me. ‘Well, who am I anyway?’, and so thinking that, I dared not watch, and kept my head bowed, deigning my fingers to do something. It’s either I, who, am in an uproar, or the people ‘round—for, as he advanced, all fell silent… suddenly I felt a hand touch my head, and a voice said, “sorry,” rather playfully. I dared not, yet couldn’t help, but look up—and there he was: strands of my hair he touched…till I felt the side of my face his fingers brushed, as he uttered, “There you are.”