4: The Ghost of You Lingers

I had not thought of you for so long, my dear and now today of all fucking days, you enter into my thoughts once again; neither welcome nor unwelcome. Such is your bittersweet hold on my heart even now.

Waiting at the train station, the morning bitter with cold and a deluge of rain bleeding through my clothes I saw you appear out of nothing. Was it you? I couldn’t tell. These days, I find it hard to distinguish between reality and my dream life. Maybe I’m losing my sanity or maybe this is how we all live inside of ourselves, confusion and certainty on tandem, unable to reconcile, our outer skins (mostly) keeping psychosis at bay. And that is on good days, my dear as you would know.

What I know and have known in the time since I met you and in the time apart is that I may never know myself but my feelings for you remain deep and unyielding. Despite the pain of your departure, whenever I see a woman who is even a shadow of you – dark-haired, prideful, strident, sultry – my being responds and the grey world around me slides away.

I  am aware that much of this sounds like so much purplish, overripe sentimental romantic bullshit, the prattlings of a lovesick young fool but  of course you know me…why am I even questioning you. You knew me, I think.  Though I never gave in to my sentimental side enough perhaps when we were together. But then that would make me regretful and I truly never regret having met you and love you the way I did. Life is timing. My timing has always been shall we say, not quite punctual.

But I must go now, the train awaits and the insurgents await me on the esplanade. You walked past me. You walked through me. You walk by. Every day. Every night. Forever.


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