While the world celebrates friends, I look out of my dusty window and play back the memories we made.
I have never opened up about what the presence or absence of certain people mean to me.
From the moment I picked up your crayon when we were six till last month when I carried you home and now being reduced to nothing but strangers, I suppose we’ve come a long way. You could never imagine that warmth I felt when people called out our name together.
I remember those long letters we used to write to each other, first confessing our friendship and later celebrating our love. I still have unsent letters, do you have them too? Or have you given up on writing them? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I tried too, but its something that became a part of me, I still have the address of our future apartment scribbled in the last pages of the diary we wrote.
Each time I saw you, I fell for you and your childish ways. Do you remember I just stared at you while you spoke, each and every word absorbed by my heart to frame our rhapsody.
Whenever you talked about yourself, I’d always have a plan to be the saviour you needed but then I was never the one you wanted.
Won’t you come back to where you belong?
Would you let me be your daylight after every night?
Ever since you came around, with your childishness being the fresh flower in my dried out garden, my heart began to envy you like dried out leaves admiring new ones.
I still listen to our mix tape vehemently, with the hope that you do too, or have you misplaced the CD,like your letters for me? I’d help you find them maybe, once I rediscover myself. Maybe we could make a new mixtape and write fresh letters instead of crumpled up pieces of paper.
I still want to watch sunsets beside you, fall asleep under the stars in your arms. And when we wake up, I’d remove those few strands of hair covering your face to catch a bit more of your child like innocence.
I still count on us to find our way back to each other, it isn’t too much to ask. Afterall we have alot of places we promised to visit.
Our mixtape plays on repeat and the lyrics remind me of a rythm of two hearts.
For now I may have run out of things to write but they will find their way into the next letter I write. The one I’ll hopefully post.
P.S : This is written on an opening sentence given by someone else.