image courtesy of Steven and Billy Blaise Dufala
In exactly eleven months we will split paths. You will forget me, and I will not forget you. I can’t help feeling a little sad, because despite everything, I will miss you very much.
We split paths long ago in our hearts, or at least you did, one year ago, but the finite and physical distance will certainly make it more real. Swallow any last crumb of hope.
And I’m afraid, K. I’m afraid of meeting someone kind, someone who will understand and accept me for who I am, but I’m afraid of never being able to smile or fall in love with him because I would always be thinking of you.
I’m afraid of locking my heart, bars and all, because it still shrinks with longing for you.
I think you will do well without me, though.
I can see you in a prestigious university, roaming across the campus grounds with your soft, soundless step.
Your hard black eyes will soften as you cross the library and jot down notes and calculations on your favorite subject, because for all your shyness and the way you deny it, you are clever. (Remember you once told me that reading our Economics textbook was as fun as reading a novel?)
You will dance to the music of a different life, find yourself in the arms and the love of different girls. They will write you stories and poems, maybe better than mine, but none quite as heartfelt.
I can see your fingers play her the same song you played for me.
You appeared in my dreams yesterday, your face pale and your eyes ghostly as anthracite as we walked down a valley of purple mists and deep gravel together.
We walked down until the pebbles piled up to our chins and we were drowning in the thick fog, which enveloped us like a thin sea and made your outline faint and shadowy.
The moonlight shone bright white over us as your voice drifted toward me in the darkness: “I’ve missed you, Esther.”
That’s when I woke up, heart aching.
That’s when I knew it was a dream.
Because I knew you would never, ever have missed me.
Or even if you had, you would never have told me.