It’s the morning after. You know what I mean, don’t you? You wake up and realize that Christmas was yesterday, or the person you’ve always imagined lying in bed next to is there, your best dream ever is interrupted, you’ve finished reading the life-changing book, or in my case…writing it. It’s the morning after.
There are no regrets. But it ended so quickly. The building anticipation consumed me. I was a vessel for the people I created and they created me. There is an emptiness in the space where we’d met for so many months. Today, I won’t see you.
I long for our times together, for the adventures that I could almost predict—almost. For you always had a life of your own—a mind of your own. This musing has too many repeated phrases. And I’ve used the word ever (twice). I’ve embarrassed myself to show you how much you meant-MEAN to me.
At the moment, you are out of my hands. Your souls are in a distant place being scrutinized and possibly penalized for my novice attempt at channeling your tale. If your voices overcome my failings, I shall rejoice with you. Together we will celebrate!