Dear *
I was talking to someone wise yesterday, who pointed out, within reason, age is no real problem. We've overcome race, gender- why not age?
Why not age?
If you were someone younger, or if I older, it might have been easier to talk, with less fear of being judged, of being told once again why I'm wrong. I don't want to be wrong, but there seems to be no way to be right.
It's been weeks since I saw you, weeks since you were the first person in whom I confided, when I had to make that choice. You were the first person to know. How I would love for that to be a trend.
I thought that not seeing you would be an end to all of this, to this two year madness. I was naïve, an optimist. Of course it was no end. You're everywhere I go, everyone I see. The world is full of reminders, and I'm torn. I want to forget you, move on- yet I'll still find excuses to go to places you could be, feel upset that you're not there. Where are you? I want to see your smile, the one that makes my heart smile too. I want to just stand next to you, in companionable silence. I want to see you, just to see you.
I'm going back to writing the thing that you initially inspired. Why? I said that I felt I could add more to it, that I wanted to make the best of it. Wrong, wrong. If it's the only way to know you, the only way to ever convey this, I want it to be perfect and I want it to last.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.