I rather enjoy that tingly feeling you get when seeing an old friend, who's been away for a while. The shy smile, the awkward hug, the first couple of odd minutes, while you two blankly stare each other in the eyes with nothing yet everything you want to tell one another. I take the first step, clear my throat, firmly grab my pen and start writing in your thin pages after weeks of longing to do so. Your silent reproach mixed with lively flirting of the pages start off the long forgotten sparks. The silent corner of the room gets filled up with unexpected feelings, new memories and, somehow, the aroma of lavender.
To be honest with you, tonight I was going to leave you alone, by my unmade bed, as I have done for countless days now. As I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time before I walked out of the room, the last rays of the setting sun sparked the gold in the crease of your antique cover, and made me reach for you. I suddenly felt the urge of hiding somewhere with you, where only you would read me... So here we are, oddly working our way back to what it used to be. My trembling fingers feel nervous about the confessions I am about to leave on your pages that feel cold and estranged after all this time.
As we took a walk down memory lane, hand in hand, I got lost in your pages of time. Next thing I know, I stepped off the sidewalk onto the road and caught myself balancing on the thin double yellow line as the cars were flying by. Blinded by all the lights, I stood there, trying to hold my breath, with my eyes wide open, as the soothing musical of whispering rain surrounded me. The instant thought of indulging myself with the escape from the midnight craze of madness into your pages transforms me into another person. You stop me from chasing the ashes of memories in the wind. You make me travel to places where I haven't left my heart. Just like the inspiration you awaken in my clouded mind, the destiny too, travels mysterious roads. And there are no shortcuts to any place worth going. Good night...
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, even though it is too dark to see anything; I keep staring until the blurry shadows start taking shapes and stepping out of the night. Suddenly, I recognize my own shadow hovering over me, and I don't know why it's here tonight. I keep laying awake for hours, and my foggy mind cannot find an answer. God, I hate these nights! I jump out of bed and hide in frantic writing and absurd lyrics to songs that will never see the light of the day. I seek rescue in unplanned phone calls and a reassuring voice agreeing with me. "These nights are heavy with aspirations, uncertainties, all mixed with restless thoughts of what could have been." Could have... Should have... Isn't...
A photograph is hidden in my bottom drawer, next to our blurred memories and silent quarrels. My inappropriate enthusiasm got the best of me one final time. I'll always remember you the way you looked through the camera lens: fragile, almost transparent, with those hazel-honey eyes of yours staring me down. My camera made your flaws vanish under a waterfall of flashing light. You always looked so serene, but your inner world was constantly on fire, you, gorgeous soul with a hint of insanity. You flew into my life with grace and spontaneous beauty of a shooting star. I made you disappear in the same manner, in a second, for no reason, permanently, and without a doubt.
....Pathetic time-killing exercise, painful late-night reminder of a friend that's gone, delightful mind-blowing way of saying goodbye, one last time, before I wreck myself against someone new....
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