On the Way

by HelluvaGirl

I think I have told you everything there is to tell another person, and yet it still feels like a vast Universe untold, and I am desperate I will never have a chance, or time; that I will die, and nobody will let you know why I don't reply to emails. I feel an aching in my chest, it's right there, like breathing. I miss you. I want to see you and make something beautiful of it. I've even told you I loved you. Do you remember? It was a bad timing, of course. But the way I love you, I never have loved anyone else, and I am unsettled having no idea what to make of it. Sometimes it feels larger than me, right there in the chest. It feels outside what I have ever learnt or classified, or labeled. The way I love you, misfits usual scenarios and stereotypes, diagnoses and preconditions. It has long overstepped the least believable time limit. To make nothing of it, is the hardest. I have to remind myself we can never be late anywhere except a conference room; that it is impossible to miss out on anything fatal because all things supposed to take form, do occur. Yes, nothing is the best that can happen this time. How else would I learn to observe, to be slow and grateful? I would gulp it all up as I have everything else, everything I have consumed that is not here any more. What I do often, is collect that white cloud around my heart when it expands, and send it your way. And in reply, you send me an email with a song.Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmail
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