Love of my life - a plea for patience.

I remember our mornings as clear as the sparkle on the window pane after the neighbour had cleaned it to absolute perfection.
Pardon my similes, because you have pardoned my thoughts so far.

I am praying for our yesterdays. I am praying for a moment where things fall into place like they always do.

Tell me, did you memorise the lights, my toes, our mingled thoughts?

Do you feel like I am tightening the noose around your slender throat?

Know that my insides are permanently ravaged, and I beg to come to you with all those broken pieces - because nothing else
gives me that semblance of being a part of a whole.

If wishes could scatter like leaves in autumn in a place far away, I would give you a million happy ones. If my thoughts could be a part of the
drill - I would beg them to traverse the conveyor belt in a straight line.

I see that you look sad. I see that you are slowly giving up, but trying to still fasten the belt, because, hell,
you love me. But they say, love is a verb, and you think I hardly try. You tell me "It's all in your head." and I know that
you are speaking the truth. But what do I do with my head, I ask you. It's a barren, empty battlefield, pitted with
dead bullet shells. Some days are worse than the others, and it's physically painful to drag my body out of bed, and somehow numb
the numb head and go about trying hard to follow a routine.

How long will you keep planting flowers?


How long?

Lucy in the sky with diamonds.

There's nothing more to do really. 
Lucy left, with her particular quips, her giggles and her baton. It seems to me that the parting has mellowed the memories of her, with her. 
I'll miss Lucy. 
She told me how important it was to be independent & self-sufficient. 
She had been my mother when I needed a mother more than ever. Mine was distant, in more ways than one at that juncture. 
Lucy had a really bright laugh. And, she could take problems on head-on, and always find a solution. 
She always wanted to do things. She wanted to create, she wanted to store, she wanted everything to look gorgeous. She was young, childish yet really mature.
She told me that there is nothing to be/feel helpless about.  She made me believe that happiness is not illusory, not really. She made me chocolate milk at 2 AM, and helped me pick up my broken pieces. 
She loved me in her own special way, and I know that. 
Lucy was brave, she was braver than most of us put together.

It was a deep affection that ran between you and me, despite the undercurrent of foolish irritability. 
You told me I could write even when I was absolutely certain I couldn't. 
I'm sorry if I have been stupidly stubborn and snapped at you. You knew. 

Big hug. 

Stay//