I wrote this bout 2/3 weeks ago at around 2/3am. Sitting awake. Thinking about the same old things. Love. You. I thought I’d complete it when the events actually took place (or didn’t take place. SPOILER: they didn’t). But I came to the conclusion that it is. And if I add to it later? Then I do. But for now. It’s finished….
I told everyone that my anniversary was the measurement on which to gauge our future. Or lack thereof. And as I sit here longing for you to reach out I can see the empty pages in our book begin to disintegrate. Our story has truly ended. Unfinished and unfulfilled. Nothing left to write. Revising and editing isn’t possible. Just reading and reliving the memories. Good and bad. The Love will always remain. What we were. What we are. What we could have been. Our future fading away on empty pages.