I wish I could tell you how much I really love you. I wish I could tell you from the other side of your veil of blindness that I am here and I understand. I hear you. I want to love you the way you want to be loved, the way you deserve to be loved. I want to place my fingers on your pale cheek and empty the emptiness in your eyes.

Instead, I watch you as you sleep. I watch you as you draw your pillow closer, as if it anchors you to safety in your dreams. And all I can tell you is this-

Learn how to hold yourself and I hope you'll find your peace. 

Ages and Ages Hence

No matter where it is that we go, it is that little walk we take in the end that counts. The moon is out, the stars are hidden in the haze of neon light. You and I walk down that empty road in silence that is as natural as breathing. The trees arch high over us like a loosely interwoven secret.

Your fingers brush against the back of my hand and my heart soars through the gap in the foliage above. Neither of us speak a word. But when we reach home, you place a hand on my waist as you open the door for me. Then I know these words mean nothing, and are redundant in the face of contentment. 

A November Hangover.

So I refused to live my life like a tear-jerker box office spin-off after you left me. But I miss the mountain of a man in my bed, holding me in his arms of steel. And what a black-hole of a thought that is, only I know. I try to bury myself in words in the effort to fend off the hopelessness, but I fail to make love to paper like I made love to you. I try, but my words sit like a twist of lemon in a glass of martini, estranged from the fruit.

During those manic nights when I cannot sleep, I sing to myself that I am free. I seek solace in the little warmth I get from my many people. Everything you were to me is now manifested in different people. I'm well taken care of. There is an abundance of lateral limbic limb-twining luck, and serendipity generated by a computer algorithm A computer algorithm generates them for me- just like it generated you for the very first time. And in my starry-eyed excitement, I sold my innocence to you for a Shawarma and ten lines of poetry.

The truth of all that love haunts me to this day, and the bitterness of its downfall makes me stronger. Though sometimes I'm unsure whether I mistake apathy for strength.

But have no doubt. Be it whatever, I am unlike you. And therein lies my salvation.

Forever,
Fawkes.