Negative

The last time we spoke, I forgot to say "bye". I think the doorbell rang or something, can't quite remember now. When Maya runs about the house looking for you, her silver anklets make the most delicate kind of music. Like paper thin bangles, just two of them, at a flirty young conversation. Or pale Christmas tree ornaments after the fire has died out. I only believed in fairies bacause they wear gauzy silver wings. Don't tell me they are not real, I know, ofcourse. But they are beautiful anyhow, aren't they?

Are you afraid to return because you think I'll ask you to stay? But I always knew that nothing could hold you. I never even tried. Your mind is a mass of confused unbridled silver wires. And you electrify everyone on the way as you go along. With your mad angry stories and your lost grey eyes. When I paint in a single colour, it makes me feel guilty. Like I'm insulting your memory. But i cannot paint in white. That's more your thing, isnt it? "I like you because you're a red cloud" you had said.
You're the sky. Blue, purple, grey, white. Always stormy, always quiet. And always free. I think the doorbell rang. What do you paint these days? Red roses white?

Adieu

Today felt like the end of something huge. Like the whole of 16-17-18. The giggle-years. Total bye bye. The no look back types. Because what would you look back at? What, indeed I ask?

There cant be anything worse than a lump the size of a cricket ball down your throat when you're trying your best to be brave for other people, and holding their hand and telling them not to cry. When all you really want to do is break down and howl and don't care who sees you at it.

Haha. When was the last time you did that, i wonder? When did it become not-okay to show how you feel? Ever since the 16-17-18 passed? But we're grown ups now aren't we? We have futures to live and money to make. Oh and some life to live, along the way. If you can spare the time, that is. Thursday at 5, then? Maybe we could take a walk. Eat an ice-cream? No? But ofcourse.

But who will i walk with now? And behind whose back will i cry? And what will become of you? Who will look after that mad little mass of all heart and no brains?

Okbye then? Take care. No, you take care. And call me. Sometimes? Once a week? A month then? Oh okay, on my birthday. Yes?