Who Would I Be if I Didn’t Have Hope?
Dear The One (who got away) [for now]
“Who are you anyway?” You asked me this years ago. Not directly. It was in a text that read, “W.a.y.a?” You always did have that subtle nature about you. You hide your profoundness behind your vagueness. It’s part of your charm. To this day, I’m still not certain what you meant by it. Maybe you were weary of me. Or perhaps you were cautious of yourself and what was raging inside of you. Either way, it stuck with me, just like everything you do. It makes for a great question. So I’ll ask it back to you. Who are you anyway? Are you really this person I’ve built up in my head? Is the tint on my glasses a little too rosy? Or do these lenses accurately depict the endless garden that is your existence? I side with the latter. The world of “us” is based in reality, but it is forged in imagination. Distance has a cruel way of doing that, and believe me, I have felt every mile. What we are dwells in the shadows of what we could be, of what we should be. And if you ever come to look for me, you will find me there, basking in our memories as I lay in endless want of you.