One message started it all.
The constant stream of conversation.
A free flow of words, that went back and forth.
Things we talked about, there was never a dull moment.
I loved it.
Numbers exchanged, conversations changed.
Whispers of sweet nothings, talk of stories, talk of fears, talk of wants, talk of tears.
Yearning.
Affection grew, this attention was new.
I was addicted.
Feelings untold.
One sided.
Had to hide it.
Until one day they just burst, I had to tell her, I should have known it would hurt.
I regret so much.
Cause now I'm here and I hope this doesn't come off weird.
I hope she doesn't see this, that she might not read it.
That she's forgotten about me, it's been a few years you see.
But if she does, I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.
It's just that you've left such an impact on me.
I have a few things that I wanted to tell you but didn't know how to reach out, didn't know how it'd be received.
Conversations throughout the night and into the early morn.
Falling asleep to the sound of your voice.
A voice like soft jazz that's gently playing in the background, filtering through every crevice and crack - willing itself to be heard.
Raspy - like a tired singer
Smooth- like a flowing river.
Words. Your words were everlasting. They stick to the corners of each thought and provoked exhausted eyes to close.
Leaving just the wisp of a whisper as one falls asleep to the sound of a gentle melody.
I still wonder what it would be like to hug you.
Eyes as warm as a kindling fire, it was always hard to look away.
Eyes that show sadness and exhaustion behind a great kindness that was almost always present.
Patience.
An everlasting patience.
Like that of an artist with small and careful brush strokes.
A photographer, waiting for the perfect smiling bloke.
I'm almost done with my degree.
It's uncanny.
I remember a time where my path was unclear.
And now the time to walk the stage is almost here.
A bachelor's degree in Anthropology, a minor in Archaeology.
Just like I said.
It's just there, just up ahead.
I wonder if you'd be proud of me, if you could see how much our encounter then meant to me.
I regret what I said, because then the communication between us might not be dead.
We used to talk almost every hour of every day.
Then I made a mistake and told you how I felt.
Then conversations between us happened few and far.
Until it was nothing but a small trickle.
I wish it hadn't been fickle.
I wish you knew how much those conversations meant to me.
I hope you're happy, I hope you're free, and healthy.
Conversations day and night.
Making me laugh, never in fright.
Every day, every hour, every minute.
And then one day they stopped.
I had never felt so empty.
I wanted to have that pillow fight, the day you finally met me.
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Happy late birthday
