Again...
I looked for the folder within an email account I had since long forgotten the password to. There it was. Your folder. With the click of my finger, it opens and back I am drawn, with nothing less than godspeed, to a time when we were each other's gravity.
Email 16 of 166: (there were once hundreds upon hundreds of emails, luckily I saved a few)
"In case you have forgotton what I looked like," with an attachment that opened to a dimly lit face of my one in only...who lived...when he lived, in the UK. Cornwall to be exact.
That very day I listened to Coldplay. They always remind me of us. Him. I. The sadness. The wishfulness. Our love.
I saw my therapist and planned on nothing to say, then I showed her snippets of my life that are still bound to him. Not intentionally, not planned, all covert. I showed her pictures of him, conversations we had and the plan I had, to be with him.
My therapist asked why I was thinking about him. I couldn't think of a reason why. Then it dawned on me: it was October. This is the month we met, 8 years ago. We met so long ago...when I was still in college, wishing for a knight to whisk me away. Someone like him.
I cried. I cried. Tears were streaming thickly down my face. My therapist acknowledged that he is still a big part of my life. I never thought about that. However, he's everywhere.
I feel bad for him and feel empty inside of me. He acknowledged me and all I wanted to give, creatively, to the world. He understood it all.
It's October again...I miss him. I can still hear the inhilation of his breath, as he picked up his phone listened to my California like "hello", then with his perfect British accent say, "hiya"...
