Unaddressed

I'm writing, yet again, to a person who won't care. And never for once did I think it would be you. Don't you remember those breathless days when we spoke so much we had no memory of doing anything else that day? Those moments of hushed whispers and 'OK, 5 more minutes and then I've gotta hang up!' extending to another half hour of smiles and memories, did they mean nothing? I remember your childhood, as I saw it through your voice, you as a scrawny little kid jumping from roof to roof. I remember your schoolboy eyes, scared of being bitten by a dog. I remember your moist eyes as you looked out your bedroom window and were in the moment, attuned to the happiness and stability around you. Your secrets, your hopes, your dreams...did you even realise how I never tried to make it about me?For all my talk about being selfish, for my clandestine need for attention, I hid myself. I closed up and gave you a chance to pry me open. You never tried, you never gave me a chance...I guess I am meant to go down that road again. Nights of longing and loneliness, a punishment for a little craving of a thing I liked to call 'intimacy'. You said you were lost. Now you've left me more misguided than I ever could be. I hoped this would be it, this would be the one I'd been waiting for,' impatiently' the way you'd put it I guess, and now it seems to lack the soul I fell for in the first place. It's better to be grounded than be taken up for a ride to the roof and then pushed away. You were real, as real as one could get and yet my dreams turning into nightmares seem better now. Your comforting voice soothed me, true, but you said a lot of things without meaning to hurt me. You never knew that words were the only thing that mattered. And words are probably, as the cliche goes, all I have left now to sort out another jigsaw puzzle where the centre was in the right place but somehow the edges got bungled up. And I loved the edges better...