You've been gone for two months already and to me it might have as well been two centuries. We agreed not to write, we agreed that you were becoming a hermit for your own good. We agreed that it was over and we agreed not to miss each other. I just couldn't make it.
I must have started writing this letter at least a dozen times. Putting one letter behind the other, chaining words together, the ink blurring with my tears, only to tear it in as many pieces as I could. Telling myself I was a fool. A dozen times I started it and yet it always said the same, I miss you. And, as much as I know I shouldn't, I can't help it.
I know you're okay. I don't know how I do, but I do. Sometimes I look at the moon rising from the sea and I know you are by the same waters. I know that you are sitting at the edge of the cliff by the lighthouse. You're alone on the island, alone with that dog you adopted just before leaving. You took the dog but left anything that had any kind of connection with me. Yet, you couldn't leave the sea and the moon behind.
I know you won't write back, but I hope that from now on when you stare at the moon you'll think of me.
Yours,
Karlie
No comments:
Post a Comment