I see you driving in cars. I watch as you walk down the street. I observe you paying for a coffee before leaving. You're always leaving. Always walking away from me.
Parts of you flicker across stranger's faces, making me look twice and sometimes gasp internally. Often, when I look the second time, you are gone. In the infinitesimal amount of time that it takes to look again you have been whisked away.
You don't ever seem to recognize me. You never take another look. You callously keep driving some other person's car oblivious to the fact that I am begging you to turn around and come back for me. How can you not notice me? How do you not see me?
I am at once both so elated to see that you still exist and crushed that you exist without me. You don't seem to notice that I pine for you with every breath I take and every instance that I see you, I am trying to convey to you my need to have you back.
These strangers, whose bodies you inhabit momentarily, may think I am insane, staring at them with such desire and meaning. They may think they have something stuck in their teeth, an eyelash on their cheek or have unknowingly upset me with a gesture or an overheard conversation.
But it's not them. It's you. You who have broken me. You gave me something so completely wonderful. Something that made life worth living. Something that belonged to me. And then, you took it away.
Now as I become the creepy chick who unblinkingly gawks at the guy who wears your nose on his face, looking for some recognition from you, I sometimes wonder if it was a dream. A wonderful and melancholy dream.
I miss you, my love. Oh, how I miss you.
Here's the story.
6 days ago