I can write epistles for hours and
days about how much I miss you.
And I do.
(I work hard to find the right words
for this specific condition: to miss
someone – that you kind of vanish
in periphery in the writing process.)
(And days passes by and becomes
weeks. I walks in dusky deserts and
I can’t believe it’s true, you’re gone.
But you are obvious not with me!)
(Can I even remember your face,
I ask myself?)
(Yet in a break, like between sleep
and awakening, or like when I go
to the kitchen to make some tea…)
(Sudden comes the memory of your
face for my eyes, sharp and clear as
at a professional taken photo. Then
instant missing you hits me hard and
tears comes with no permission… )
(I can’t, can’t, can’t… No, I can’t grasp
the grim fact you’re gone – and gone
forever. It can’t be true?)