I didn’t anticipate that you would one day just vanish. It’s funny because you came back to help and I was reluctant. But of course, I gave in. Because it’s you. Then I ask you to stay. And you are reluctant. You vanish. You don’t want to talk. It’s funny how it’s switched like that. I am not angry about it. But I’m angry at the universe. The one that conspired against us. The one that made sure I was never to run my fingers through your hair. Because the universe knew how much you wanted me to run my fingers through your hair. And the universe knew how much I wanted our little escape. So the universe said: no. And that was that. And you have moved on. Or maybe you’ve forgotten how much was said and done between us. I still go to bed thinking about that poem, ending with:
“The saddest part of the day is when I have to end the call and say bye.”
Maybe it’s my memory that’s remarkable. Or maybe I should have told you how I wrote out that poem and pinned it to my noticeboard. Because I was afraid of losing it.