The memories of you and me.

Until I found you, I didn’t know. Until I touched you, I couldn’t believe it.
For the first time, I don’t need anything else. Even if the end comes, these warm, sunny days are perfect.

In your view of the world, I’m invisible. In your way of thinking, I’m incomprehensible.
The gap between you and me can’t be filled. But perhaps, it isn’t worth worrying about these thing.

Often, I picture us holding hands and watching movies, sitting on benches beneath the old oak trees, hearing your laugh throughout the day and catching your smile when you think I don’t see.
And all I can do is hope that when you close your eyes, your mind is filled with the thought of me.

We meet and we drink coffee, and we talk about our lives and we listen to each others stories hoping that the other will bring up how much they miss the other but no one wants to be that weak.
No one wants to admit that they miss someone so much their bones ache.

But the memories we make. We – fill the spaces we live in with them. That’s why – I’ve always tried to make sure that wherever I live, the longer I live there – the spaces become filled with memories.

The time I spend with him has always been soothing. He would always listen to what I have to say without getting defensive. And there would never be awkward silences either.

I kept thinking about them over and over, and before I realised it, my heart was captured.
My very existence, behaviour, words.



2 thoughts on “The memories of you and me.

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