Day Two hundred and fifty six - Miss you

Hi, it's me. I mean 'me' me, this is neither a dream nor a sad story I came up with. Me. I have spent the best part of the past couple of weeks thinking about you. Nothing in particular, mind, just thinking about you. And It's strange, it's something I got so used to not doing for so long. I don't go back to the past, not really, and nor do I fantasize about what might have been. Not anymore. The time for that has long past. But that does not drive you away from my thoughts. Actually, I'd say it's not even thinking, for the most part. I'd say it's rather feeling you, feeling you from a distance. I try to remember how it felt to kiss you, to have our lips so closely pressed, so deeply locked in passion, that I'd forego food or sleep to be in that moment forever. I can't - I can't even tell you that everything else has tasted like ash since then. No other body fit mine so perfectly, yet I can't remember how it felt like to have your breasts pressed against my chest. Everything faded from memory, and even the ghosts of memories are no more than wisps of gossamer that slip through my hands. And I miss all that. Hell, I miss talking to you every day, and it sucks that we don't talk like we used to. It fucking sucks that I can't tell you what's in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. And I wish I could, I really do. I wish I could bare my heart to you, but that's not how life works. 

Can I say that I miss your smile? I loved the way you smiled when we kissed, it made me so happy. And I see your smile still, I see it everywhere I go. It's always there, that glorious, imperfect smile of yours. Now, you smile, and the smile signals emptiness for me. Do you have any idea how precious your words are to me? They always were. Sometimes I imagine you can sense my need for you, even though there is a world of impossibilities between us. Can you? Was that why you reached out to me? Would you believe me it hurts like hell to be so curt, so distant, when we do talk? I can't bring you any more pain or chaos. I'd rather ride off into the sunset than cause you the slightest harm.

I have to keep these things inside me. All of it. Though it may hurt, though it may kill me. I must. Lock it deep inside me again, and live out my days with this love inside me. And what can I tell you my sister, my killer, what can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you, I'm glad you stood in my way.