We’ll never get to share the things we shared before. Like: staring at the moon when the night is silent, walking an idle lane shoulder-rocking-shoulder and hand in hand.
We’ll never get to say the things we said before. Like when you stared at me, kissed me on my lips and said “Do not leave me in a world without you,” I smiled, “No babe. Never.”
We’ll never get to do the things we used to do. Like cuddling you up when you get scared of the shadows of things that do not exist. “Ola, can I…can I place my head on your shoulder for a while?”
You were part of the pain I couldn’t let go, part of the joy I didn’t withhold. You were, for a moment, the most beautiful thing that happened to me. But you left without saying bye.
So I talk to myself in phrases, and to the wind, hoping that it carries my words to your ears. I write poems in sticky notes, put them at random places: the rooms where we made love, and the chairs, and the study, and every place you liked to be, hoping you’d read them.
All what you said to me were nothing but truthful lies. You said: I’ll never let go of these beautiful hands. I will engrave my name on the rock of your heart and I will make sure never to disappear from you, and when you need someone, you’ll always find me. Beautiful lies.
Now, I am alone in a cold world where no one knows what’s going on in my head. You were the only reason I looked forward to every next day, but today, you are not here. Today, you are on the other side of existence.