Once it felt like it had to be then or never, that you were to be it, if not then, then sometime until forever was to die. But I seemed to be wrong and you ever sure of nothing either, no consciousness struck you then, maybe not even now, but sadly I don’t know you anymore. Plainly free stood you, as next to me as I could make happen. Now it’s a memory and so hardly one more tear the result. I used to think there could never be another to ring in me so loud, but I was wrong again. After all you were what you were, you were just enough, enough to make me special and enough to let me now live still. You’re a past that flourished and then withered, so common. You were that flower, not ephemeral cause your sting bled me for long, but one that went on with no regret and so did I, after a while, of going on.
Then, there was someone else, may I call you fleeting? Yes, cause I believe you were so eager to not stay, to not grow that you probably couldn’t even tell these words are for you if you read them. You are big but what did you feel that could be discerned though? I had certainties and then so many doubts, and doubtful we died. And then another one cured me, she kinda understood me, what wasn’t meant for her, she saw it wasted on you. Easy and silly. Our interactions were cute and now our lack of them is cold and fresh, and do I mind it? Probably just as much as you might too. But you couldn’t show it and so can’t I.
And what about you, other girl? From words read to words shed. Skeptical reader you are, yet you read! Isn’t that something!? What you found wasn’t to be yours, do you know that? Yes, was bound to something different, premeditated I wished, not to become this saturated fruit of life that you slowly nipped. Sweet isn’t it? And from biting me you so became somewhat closer, slowly, a different rarity.
Us, bizarre faith by you sowed, the unforgetful woman who looked for such impossibility, to forget. A state I strangely was in to then find myself out and in again, maybe because I’ve lived less and loved also not much, for countable loves there was none. It was me and a will to see too much. That’s why, without meaning to, I tutored you that obvious subject, your gone reality. You couldn’t remain handicapped forever, blind to what is vital. And how was this done, the progress in you and mine as well? I only know it was effortless and natural. Yup, it’s cool! How once there was not much to our sole selves but now this thing we share it finally means something. To us but even more to who we used to be.