I miss you. I've been trying to write but nothing arrives. I know, I know that I just have to give time for it, to sit there and open up. I know all that, but I'm searching for something. Maybe I'm searching for you, for those lost, long nights that we talked and drank wine outside a darkened chapel. That scene haunts me. Walking across the car park, hugging you on the front steps, our countless dinners, that off-shoulder shirt you wore, revealing your smooth shoulder and emphasizing your young, slender neck. I wanted you, I was crazy for you. I realized that our deep discussions was like foreplay for me. I could have made love to you so many times. I miss that depth of sharing, the ideas and feelings. I never had that since. I regret that we didn't end up together, and I regret that I deleted all our emails. I was angry with you for the longest time, because I couldn't love you.
And now, only now, I realize that I've been literally so lost without you. And that all is lost, it's too late for anything, even for dreams and hopes and second chances.
All I have are memories and remembered fantasies. I know the idealized you, the lost you, the never-to-be-recovered you. And it is you that intrudes my thoughts when I write.
When I write, when I try to stir up my imagination, when I try to dip into the pool of creativity, I am always reminded by the exhilaration I felt when we were together. Here's another cliche: I was so alive when I was with you.
You, you, you. It's always been about you.
Now, I'm just stuck with my self, my sorry self and my reliable self-pity. The first few years were really bad, which contributed to my clinical depression. Nowadays, it just comes as an incessant dissatisfaction. A blah-ness in my daily life.
I never thought I'd still be alive at this age. I never planned for this.
They say that some writers write about the same thing over and over again, in different ways, in different works, in different times. I just might be one of those writers.
And you, yes, you.
You will probably never know this, but you were the one.
I was in love with you, and I loved you. I was truly, madly, deeply in love with you. And what did you say?
You said that you will invite me to your wedding.