A story about you

I wanted to write about you, or us, whatever that had happened to us, whichever that came to mind first. I wanted to write about how we had loved, or how we had lost each other, how we had not learned to care for one another better than we should have. I wanted you to be there when I tried to write about you, I wanted you to feel the pain, the heartbeat when a story about you, on you, for you was being shaped, formulated, given a life into this world, a world so ugly that neither of us could possibly have continued to love and live.

So I have been writing about you, on the day that you turned your back on me, the day I was left alone in the wind, and the day our world was overturned. I continued to write about you, or us, whoever that deserved a carefully crafted story more. You were given a life to live well, to its fullest, and so was I. But here I was, in the middle of the day, doing not a thing but drafting a story about you, on you, for you.

So the love of my life, how have you been? in the time that we have been apart, that you have grown into someone completely strange to me, journeyed through this life on your own, without a hand to guide you in the darkest nights. How have you been?

I imagine you, the very special individual, traveling in the air, wandering all by yourself, with no one to talk to, no one to look after, no one to care enough for. Would I want that for you? so much was lost, so much pain. Would I want that for you, the love of my life? So I wonder if the pain, the heartache deserved a voice, too.

And my love, you didn’t have to be a novelist to be writing a story about yourself, or us, whichever that deserved a few pages, a few passionate words, paragraphs, a couple carefully crafted stories.