Read Between the Lines

Tues, May. 14

... On a wish and a dream

It makes me sad, too, but that sadness is quickly diminishing into disgust and repulsion. No, not even diminishing. The sadness for what was lost is still there, but it's being replaced by the greater sadness for what is.

I wish things were different. I wish you were different. I wish I was different. But things are the way they are, no matter how much anyone wishes to change them. It's not going to happen. The damage can't be undone, and I don't even know if you want it to be. Regardless of all that, though, being sad and wishing for change isn't enough. Things have been the same way--this way--for far too long now for me to believe that they'll change on a wish and a dream.

I couldn't see your face. Try as I might, every image in my mind fell short. Every time I tried to remember, I would see, in near-perfect detail, the rest of your body: your feet up through your legs, your hips, your chest, your arms, even your hair. But not your face.

I tried, harder than I tried for anything before. I drew pictures in my mind. I dreamed of you. I heard you, I saw you, I remembered you. But never again did I see your face. After that day, it was erased from my memory; a phantom that I was never really sure even existed.

Fleeting moments are all we're made of. Glimpses of what was important, who we loved, how we lived. Glances of a heart, a soul, a mind, a will. Never the entire picture, never even though to know anything. Only enough to make a judgment call, correct or not. Only ever enough to see little bits and pieces. Enough to remember your hands, your arms, your legs, your chest, your hair; but never your face.
infinite || abyss

posted at 11:42 a.m.

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