Although this might be fate, exactly a year precised to day, like a curse. Kept from the light, to the world we never existed. Still fresh and new, 22th March, cookies on the bus, where everything began. Romantic, Lunatic, Wild. The smell on your hair, the sense of your touch. It hurts, waking up knowing it was just another dream after many many of them.
Time flew like a butterfly, carried away your passion and serenity.
That day on that bridge, was the moment closest to human I've ever had.
Unfortunately, we were never meant to be anything more.
Or say faith was lost.
Youth, a time when everyone was blind, foolish yet pure.
When eyes spark of excitement and anticipation.
To be devoured and consumed, willingly.
One more word and I'll be doomed. The rest shall be kept in the little journal that no one will ever get to read.
Just regrets and all. It could have been different.
It could have been.
Yves