Eyes closed, I hear your voice from the kitchen. Faint but still sweet. Always melodious. I feel your whispers. I hear the trees and the stars sing with you. This world was meant to be seen with your eyes. And it has not been as beautiful without you.
People hardly look up anymore.
it was a cold morning when you left. i remember because it was raining really hard the night before. there were no goodbyes but just a gentle brush of your hand against mine. the last touch. that was ages ago. the room had become darker as the days passed but each day i still wait for you to come back. sometimes i would sit by the window and look for your face among the multitudes that pass by and i would just close the panes after the sun has set.
but now i grow tired of sitting and looking out the window. the faces have become blurs in time. the room has gone much darker and i tire.
i feel myself starting to leave.
This photo was taken in the late 90s, the words were written sometime in early August 2015, and I put them together and posted it on Instagram in the latter part of August of the same year.