I remember the first time we met in the stillness of that one Wednesday afternoon. I swore I would never fall in love with you but then you started to speak with that mad glimmer in your eyes about the universe and how you had read that our souls were divided over the time and how these pieces of our souls were scattered all over the earth and I knew I would never be the same again.

I write to you because I have so much to say.
I write to you because I know no other way.
Tell me.
What's going on in that mind of yours?
Do you ever think of what could be?
Do you ever think that halfway around the world there's someone who writes to you so fervently?
I don't know how not to.

You're the songs I once loved so fervently but can no longer bear to hear or sing because they weigh so much now with remainders of you and I.

You're the paths I can no longer tread alone because the stones on the pathway are stained by mindless conversations of two 19 year olds. Each stone a different story. They still breathe in new life as dawn unravels over them. Coming back to life over and over and over and over. Never ceasing to exist. Never ceasing to haunt.

You're the books I mean to read but can no longer do so because 7 year old you mindlessly scribbled your name all over them making it impossible for me to hold them 14 years later without my burning my fingers. I can feel all the letters of your name piercing into my skin, carefully bruising all the right places.

You're so good at this game.