The sun went down. The lights are already out. Then my thoughts of you came in.
And here I go again, writing about us, about you.
I already told myself that I won't write about you. Not again. Not ever. But look at what I'm doing—stupidly scribbling words on a sheet of paper like it will change a thing.
My mind wants me to jot it down once more—how I remember the first call you made, the sound of the voice I heard, the stories we shared. Oh, dear mind, I want to forget!
My hands, each and every finger tips, wants me to hold the pen and feel like I was holding your hands the very first time underneath a table. Oh, dear hands, I want to be numb!
My eyes, whenever I shut it to see darkness, it just flashes every image of you, smiling at me, like it was the glow I am supposed to see. Oh, dear eyes, I want to hide!
And oh, this heart—this heart which I heard breaking that night is amazingly beating fast at the slightest memory of you. Oh, dear heart, I want you to stop!
At first I thought, writing about you would be a closure yet I think it is becoming a habit.
Believe me when I say that I always find myself ordering myself to write about something else, to write about someone else, but I always end up writing about you. Then I realized maybe I should not stop. Maybe I should just go on.
Maybe, just maybe, when my pen ran out of ink, my heart will also run out of love—for you.
Maybe when I run out of words that would mean I already ran out of memories to recall, maybe that would mean I have forgotten everything about you.
I will never know. But from now on I will stop saying "this will be the last time I'll write about you" after every single time that I do. From now on, I will play with every word that every memory of us brings. From now on until it's gone. From now until my mind has forgotten, until my hands get tired, until my eyes get blurry, until this heart stops beating... For you.
I will write again.