Where are you? The words behind which you secretly roam the world, through decades of unconceivable mystery, don’t do you justice. I draw pictures in my head that I keep erasing the moment they come to life, unsatisfied, fearful of the lies I am telling myself.
I fail at seeing your beauty and I regret having tried to bring a face to life that has left my world long ago. And yet, I know that I will never stop trying; I will not cease to read the words and build an existence out of mere mirage and fancy. Love, fervor or desire, the reason seems to be of little importance. It is the only way to feel alive again; to search for the past, to search for you. Without you my existence is but a quiet cry into nothingness, unheard and unrecognized.
Time steals everything away from me even certainties I believed would endure a life time. My life is made of incomplete experiences, fractions of realities entangled in reveries and secret desires. But you have always been the person, in my reality and in my memory, whom I wanted to see.