When I leave, i will bring your words with me. I will store it in my heart space.
Maybe one day it’ll make sense.
But for now, I might be gone for a little while. And it’ll be okay. For now, I will let you go. For I have held on too long.
Today, I am finding love in old things. The scent of pine, tall trees and the mountain air. Details from the natural world, voluminous in its silent echoes. The strength of quiet. Of you. Always you.
Which you are.
Your words, repetitive and golden though always a sound of tiredness and exhaust. Perhaps you are lonely. Maybe you like solitude. Woods and trees. A mystery you are. Always you.
Like a sad song that’s played, my days will go on. Without you here.
My sense of being, may it let you go. I bare my heart, beating wildly, for you to notice. But you don’t. You don’t really care. It’s all superficial. And it’s okay. It’s always okay. I will always bare my heart to you. I know. Always you.
I’ll see you later, I suppose. I’m running away, resisting. I don’t want to. Part of me knows that when I leave this place, it will be hard to look back. And maybe I will lie. I will tell you how great it is without you. The mountain air, clear and crisp, pockets of cold. I’ll write you a letter. Maybe from afar. I’ll think of you often. Always you.