Soul and Spirit

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If I were to communicate with you, I would just tell you that so many things cross my mind when I think of you. You are the still image of an era. The black and white portrait on the wall. The source of restless nights and forgotten dreams. The chaos that inhabits the lands of me. Impossible to define you and what you are. Fragments of thoughts diffuse into my day to day life. Memories of us. The music that surrounded our epigraph. Dam my memory, capable of forgetting what just happened and yet, drenched into the memory of you. If I told you that you broke my soul and my heart that would make you feel good. You see, I end up feeling I always lose with you. 

Can't make up my mind, if you do it on purpose. Silent witness of the discomfort and suffering of others. A mere victim of your own past? A product of unloving parents. The conflicted father. The abusive and drug dependent mother. 

I check my email sometimes and I expect to see your name. 
I heard you moved. 
Away.

What does one do when the hope that it has sustained their life dies?  The days get filled with unreachable air.  The mornings are pale and tasteless. Dew dries. My hands once able to love and reach, now clamp themselves and reach out to my own bleeding heart. 

How can one love a liar? How can one love a sadist? How can one still remember the way he walked, the way he showered, the way his lip half smiled while singing? 

Giving this life to you in my head makes me feel like I am not that empty. This freckle of you replaces years and years of hopes and the certainty that you existed. Now my life is this post message in a bottle episode. I found the bottle. Kept the message, but the bottle is long gone. Or maybe it's the other way around. The message got away. The bottle broke in my hands. 

I am crumbling into this pain that is you away from existing. I don't miss you per se. I miss the idea of you. The one I thought I had found. I am unaware of my state. Am I mad cause you were an illusion or because you were a trap? 

I have no answers yet and I don't understand why letting you go is so, so hard.

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