There was a time when I gave everything to see you again.
I took my letters and my memories, I got on a plane, and I found myself with you again.
What a great thing it was, to get off that train and see you there waiting for me.
Your smile blazed through me, my heart a continuous victim of your beautiful crimes.
The only thing I could give you to understand were my letters. Each one a version of me you left, a version of me that was forced to live without you, without closure or answers. Versions of me with a heart that persisted for you.
When we talked about what happened, you were cautious and considered my every word, of course you didn’t believe the depth of my feelings for you.
You were the one that left in the first place.
When we talked about what happened, you didn’t show me to the door, but took me to your bed; perhaps you believe me now.
You reminded me that it was all real, that those memories are ones we share, and it was not our fault that things did not go differently.
When we talked about what happened, I saw every reason why it should not happen again.
So I took my letters and my new memories, got back onto that train, and found myself without you again.
But I came home a version of me that can live with that.
A Series of Observations 