severed

In the end, it was you.
your conscious decision
like a doctor, like a gardener
I felt it when I first saw you too
and even when you said, 'hey listen,..
we're going to be best..' and I played it in my head over and over
now- it's almost funny how time, and you, made a mockery
of me and played ever so delicately with each string
and found a useless shell of a tool
threw it back to the sea with no company in its own misery
each call, each message, each meal, all the memories they sting
-smile at me and say I am a fool

X came last summer, unexpected and left this summer
as expected amidst my fears
X called and said 'hey, I haven't talked to you in so long'
we spoke and never did again
X used to tell me about everything that was a bummer
couldn't be bothered now; someone please tell me it is not worth my tears
X made me feel like I belong
now on a clear day, I am a drop of rain

//
Am I glad it was earlier so the pain would be greater? but wow does it hurt when you sat there as I stood facing the back of your white tee.
finis

And remember.

"Did you receive my email?"
I think that was what you asked that February, almost at the end.

I reckon I was a bit too happy then, that you made an effort - to respond, to ensure. I reckon I was happy with everything else too. Someone told me that I was too easily satisfied, too easily impressed, too easily happy, by everything you did, every word you said. That same someone told me to write to you. But I could not, could I? Who am I that you should pay attention? Who am I that you should bother to be civil? Who am I that you should care? I think that may be why I am too easily content. Content with hoping without hope. I learnt many things from many people. Many things about you, I admit. And I can't help hoping that one day, I would be able to do so from you, yourself. It is going to be almost 4 years, how time flies. And I am still stuck where you left. In that time loop. Replaying everything over and over. What is that to someone half the world across?

And it wasn't even anything much. ha.
Only a look, a tap, sometimes a smile, occasionally a lecture.
Twice a brush, a walk.

I wrote that in some years I will recall those memories and laugh at their insignificance.I hope it will be soon. I am far from laughter. A friend told me that intoxicated, she poured out her feelings, to the wrong person, but to the subject of the conversation. I think I may have cracked a smile at the simplicity of it all, and wished I was not too conscious a person. Perhaps, one day I will have the courage, and the confidence. Perhaps it will already have been too late by then. Perhaps it is already too late now. Perhaps, it was never even a realistic possibility. I would like to know, but how could I? So maybe then, keep being elusive a character, keep running.
Run.
Run, you, clever boy..