no more?

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sometimes, i wonder if maybe the words i said to you, nearly half a year ago, maybe more, were the last words that will ever be uttered between us.
sometimes, i wonder if i've waited for the wrong thing, if i've waited too long, if i haven't waited long enough.
i can't believe what's happened, sometimes.
i'll see you from across the room, or something like that, and i'll feel the thought hitch, a memory caught in the gentle electricity of two synapses.
i'll suddenly remember the way your breath spread, like spilt paint, across the curve of my shoulders.
i'll recall that, before, i was able to look at you without being seeped in the thickness of nostalgia.
i'll break. sometimes.

other times, i let the memories take me back to the time that i had in my hands when you and i were still somewhat one.
back to when you held me like there was no pain in the action, and even further, to the unraveled state i was in before any of this transpired. the state to which i'm fast returning. i let the minutes that remain in my memory drift over my train thought, and i smell you again. i taste you again. i let myself feel you again.

but i'll be honest.
you're fading.
i can feel the wind blow in a slightly less forceful fashion. the light is filtering through the musty density of grey thought and i can see the foreground with a small bit of clarity.






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