I miss her this morning. This particular morning, where I find peace with other floating things in universe. Finding myself between million conversation and gazillion collision, of life and death.
I don’t know how to greet her nor guessing what conversation that we will be having. Years ago, maybe I’d pick up my guitar and burst into Oasis’ She Is Love. But I grew up, I’ve been to some places and met many people. She did too. She ain’t love anymore. I just miss her terribly.
I never wonder if she ever thinks the same way. She won’t. I know every inch of her thoughts and I probably know why she left me. But I don’t hold anything against her, I know her. I’m just hoping she’ll ever find someone to settle her in.
Someday, somewhere.
I miss her this morning. This particular morning where everything collide on the perfect order, creating mere conspiracy of the chance of holding her again. For just a second before she’s being her, and I’d go on with my terrible lying of loneliness.
Maybe I’m just being sentimental. Maybe there’s really something between me and her that is still hiding between those days. Those silent days that suddenly become years, and I don’t know whether I will ever see her again.
I want to see you.
And you’ll know that’d be the last conversation we’ll ever had.