I think of you so often, and it’s hard not to do so – I’ve tried, but to no avail. In all honesty, It doesn’t shock me; I mean why would it, we’ve immersed into each other’s lives so immensely that it’s hard not to pick myself up, and not be drenched with the imprinted thoughts that you’ve left behind.
I thought of you when it rained, and when it poured heavily, because like I once said that when it does, I will too. I thought of you when the lighting hit the core, in which my heart shuddered, I thought of you at the sight of the trailing clouds, I thought of you when the sky was a faded range of pastel hues, I thought of you when I wore my sweater, and I thought of you when I took my long walks at night, and early mornings – with hopes that they’d ease things.
I promenade so frequently around the universities garden, I’d look up and I’d feel the sun lightheartedly touching my skin, through the glimpses from between the trees. I’d imagine you being amongst the kaleidoscopic lush greenery, implanting yourself in-between the poppies, lavenders, jasmines, and then eventually bloom. I perpetually collect floral samples, some that I’ll press and store, awhile others, I’ll probably create replicated imagery, or artworks that would be considered merely close to the floral photographs of Irving Penn. I stress on merely.
Denying the fact that even literary pieces demolish my train of thought, I’m trying to read more often. Be it poetry, be it auto biographies, or the book that I’m reading now – it talks about a man that loves to hurt women that he’s been intimate with, not physically, but emotionally. I wouldn’t say I can relate, but the way that he elaborates on his misogynistic thoughts, and his perceptions of love, relationships, and how they so often end up in smokes is quite amusing. I have a couple of books that I anxiously want to get my hands on, they involve the essence of artifice dispositions, suicidal thoughts, and endless entries of those that lust over the touches of bare skin, awhile going through the heart provoking winter season – you could say that some are partially kinky, yet very erudite.
I really hope that you’re well, and that not a day passes without you feeling better about yourself, or about the accomplishments, or goals that you set your mind to. Regardless of how small, and insignificant they may seem, just know that they help – I’m hopeful that they are. Also, I’m here, and I’ll always have you with me.
But, please, I wholeheartedly ask this, please tell me that you feel it too? Please tell me that It’s not just me reminiscing over everything. Please? I don’t doubt that things are pleasantly tallying along with you, nor that things get hard at times – I know that it’s not easy, It never seemed to me that things were.
Here’s a playlist that I’ve been listening to, I’ve heard it while the rain hit my bare skin, I’ve heard it while driving around, and I’ve heard it out loud awhile I shower. Just tell me that you’ll hear it too?