I was walking in the park yesterday when it started to drizzle. I thought of you. The day before that, I passed by a flower shop that seemed to have run out, but for a few roses. I thought of you. Last week, I welcomed autumn when a golden leaf drifted down and landed in my hair. I thought of you. Last month, when the nights were warm, I stood out on the balcony for the breeze. I thought of you.
I think I’m becoming rather stupid, because there is no room in my head for anything or anyone but you. I write to you in desperation to cover the distance between us, for each day without you is a day lost. I can barely believe that I am writing this at all, I cannot recognise myself- yet I mean this in the best way, because I am writing it to you.
I dream of you when I am awake just as much as when I am asleep. I think of the pink stains on my skin that your painted lips leave, I think of the soul in your eyes when they pierce into mine, and I think of your voice when you sing into the night. There is a rush in my veins every time I see a woman with dark hair, because have neither the control nor the capacity to stop myself from daring to hope that it’s you. Then she turns around. How I wish it could be you. I want to speak to you about every little thing that happens every single day. When I’m angry or upset, I long to hear your calming words. When I’m happy, I long to share it with you. But I know. For now, I must settle for dreaming of you.