Love letter # 18
That song came on the air – you know the one – and I was plucked from the sky. In a beat I was back on your floor, lying next to you in a world we made up with secret signs.
I closed my eyes so that I could see you again. Your gaze close and liquid, your index finger tracing my jawline, your mouth so soft – whispering coded affection. And god I loved you – like not a moment had passed, like I was about to enfold you once more.
And right there – stranded in that gorgeous music – surrounded by unblinking strangers – ecstasy and despair came together. I was both the lover in brilliant flight and the grounded fool left longing.
I wanted you. I wanted you. I wanted you so.
Time does not heal – don’t believe them when they say that. Those two years – they have not dimmed a single star. The ocean I loved you with still has the power to wash me away. I drowned in that song – just like we used to swoon.
So many if onlys … playing over like the chorus.
Is there a point to all this? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll remember our days as fondly as I do – not so that you’ll suddenly want me back but so that you, like me, will be able to conjure up such splendid stars for the price of a song.
The angels don’t always sing happy tunes – but boy do they sing.