by Vidimvas

… I would write about love. I would write about the people that I love, and how much I love them and why. I would write that my love is that of an undying fire, that may dwindle but never extinguish. I would write how sometimes my love for the one is less strong then my love for the other. I would remember the rainy nights and I would set myself up for aching and I would think of the thing that would be. I would love him and he would love me, it would be perfect.

I sometimes think about how my life would be different if I loved him. I wonder what kind of a person I would have become and where I would be. Sometimes I wonder, if I didn’t all pissed it in the wind, with the choices I made and if I would have a better life with him.

I know you do not see yourself in these words, who would. How would you know, we talk, but don’t talk about that. It is the subtle things that make my love undying and because of these subtle things I know that you love me too. It is the look in the eye that looks away, it is in the touch that never happens. It is in the hours and it is in the coffee.

I would write about the love. The love … that is always here and that no one will ever see. It is yours and it is mine, but it is not ours. That is why I would write about the love, but will never do it. Because tomorrow when I wake up the love will be buried under another love, one that is alive and one that can be said, can be spoken and can be lived.