Before I wrote this, I closed my eyes trying to imagine what you could be up to. You’re Lord knows where, doing something impossibly beautiful. Everyone around you infected by your contagious laugh and how you stand out without wanting to. You’re actually so shy. Infinitely shy. Around unfamiliar people, you would hold my hand and squeeze it tight as if we could become invisible together. As if reassuring me that we are rooted in each other and that my feelings were your skies and your feelings were my forests and what we had was a secret garden in which tears, apples, pain and strawberries were planted.
I would begin to talk about what I loved most about you, but my entire blog already has.
I’m trying not to miss you & I’m trying not to think about you & Lord knows I’m trying to close my heart and not compare you to the others but emotions don’t burn like cigarettes being smoked over a pool of feelings.
So, I hope your Sundays are spent being as beautiful as the image you retain in me.