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Dear You… May 11, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Writing.
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Dear You,

I miss the way you used to look at me. Like we were the only ones in the room and I was the only woman in the world. We never said much in those moments — I just watched you watching me. I wondered what thoughts lay behind the expression in your eyes…as I have always believed the eyes are the windows to the soul. Your soul was dark…fathomless, it would seem.

I miss the way we could talk about anything — existing in tandem without barriers to deflect certain subjects that with other people we might hold back. I used to wonder what it meant…being at ease with someone I hardly knew. But…it was your eyes. I would look at you looking at me and just knew that somehow, I knew you.

But that was a lie, of course. Always has been. Once I got to know you better I learned there was nothing about you I knew for truth. I learned the things you told me were highly fabricated…grandiose versions of what really was. And still I liked you. I liked your laugh and the way you scraped your hair out of your eyes. I liked so many things, which was at odds with what was quickly becoming my dislike of you.

It took me years to figure out what it was that encouraged me to continue calling you friend. It was that image of you, stuck in my head like some bug that burrows in your skin that you have to suffocate in order to be free of. But I couldn’t suffocate it…couldn’t even bring myself to try to snuff the life out of the image. I liked the image too damn much.

Tonight I sit here thinking about that image. About your eyes. About your voice. And the things you said. The things you didn’t say. The things I never said…and never will. It’s a terrible thing…missing something that never was. But that’s what I do when I think of you. I think of all the laughs and all the conversations, and the way you moved. I begin to smile for the smallest of moments before I remember, over and over and over again, that every moment, every gesture, every word was contrived.

I miss the man you never were.



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