One more.

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A lump the size of the world is lodged in my throat. I try to speak but no one can hear me, my voice is barely a whisper, I try to shout it out, still it is not audible.
I curl on the couch, trying to fold my self into a small ball. It doesn't help.
It doesn’t change the facts and it doesn't help me accepting this new reality.
I didn't mean to make him my universe it just happened.
Sometimes I play the whole thing over and over in my head, trying to exactly pinpoint the day it all went wrong, like a nameless city on a map.
His details has faded a bit now. I don't quite remember the tone of his voice.
But then there are things I can't forget not in a million years.
The way he looked at me,
The way he formed his words in such care and delicacy just for me.
It's hard to stop searching for myself in his words, even when I know they're not meant for me, they probably never were.
I don't speak about him anymore.
And every time I promise myself not to write about him I break that promise.
We started that way, roses and chocolate and sweet promises of forever, promises we couldn't keep.
I wrote him a hundred letters which all I threw away.
I wounder, if I told him how much I miss him, would it make any difference for him? Would it make his heart skip a beat or would he curse me in his head?
Because I do, I miss him to the moon and back.
And I don't check on him anymore, because I don't trust myself enough to let out more than I want to show.
I don't want him to see the pain of his loss weighing my shoulders.
I don't want him to see the absence of happiness in my features, I know he will notice.
I don't want him to ask me how I am, I don't want to lie to him.

Was it love what we had?
I don't know.
There are all these words and phrases and expressions and I can't find the right way to describe it. I don't know how to put it.
It kills me, this state of not-knowing.
It's like waiting for a train which you're not sure if you missed. So you wait and wait and wait.
Until you get tired and your legs can no longer pace.
And just when you decide to ride another train, you see the one that you have been waiting for in the horizon.
It is this poisonous mix of guilt and regret and unbearable sadness.
It's not just losing someone, it's losing a part of your own soul. A part that you can't retrive.

I don't cry about this anymore. It's just a silent kindly of sadness that looms above my head, no one can see or sense other than me.
I wish I could go back and do things differently.
One more day.
One more conversation.
Only one more.
But I can't waste more days waiting for that train.

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