Very early in the morning, Jimi sat looking at the beautiful painting of Kira,nearly a decade had passed since he last touched her, heard her say his name, or felt your fingertips caress his skin. They've both moved on. It would be strange if they hadn't, after all of this time. Their lives are completely separate yet he still feels intimately woven in his mind.
He immediately picked up his pen and he began to write
Dear Kira,
Last night, I found an old photo of us and I touched myself while looking at it. While looking at you. It was urgent, visceral. Even at a distance, thousands of miles and cities between us, you have the power to turn me on. I feel desired when I think about how I used to be with you, how you used to stroke my hair, tell me you loved me, hold my hand, as we walked together lost in our own world,
Is it wrong to miss you?
I miss inhaling the scent of your skin as I bury my face into the side of your neck. I miss tracing invisible lines down the scars that detail your body. And how we'd hold hands together —I miss that, too. I miss the way your sleepy smile would be the first thing I saw when I woke up and how we'd cuddle on the couch to watch a movie at night, even though it wasn't really big enough for the both of us. I miss the way my heart would throb the whole walk home, knowing I'd be seeing you sooner with every step. Most of all, I miss the way you loved me. Quickly, passionately, with abandon. You loved me for me: my dimple, my giggle, The whole me.
And I will never break your heart.
I guess you wouldn't have loved that part of me—the cruel, callous side. If you hate me, even just a little bit, I wouldn't blame you. I rather try to make it work between us. I'll take full responsibility for that. You didn't do anything wrong. I've often wondered what I could have done without you, I may bê young, reckless, but I promise to be a better person.
For so long I've been content living with the every memory of us. Do you ever think of me? When someone brings up my name, do you wonder what we could have been? I'd like to think that I cross your mind every now and then; when you go to that cozy bistro we loved or pass by the bench we adolescently carved our initials into. Our spots. Do they still exist? Or have they faded, disappeared, gone forever, like the connection we used to share? I wish I could hold you one more time. Would we have done things differently?
I do wish we ve a house by the beach, a couple of kids, traditions, routines. I might have chosen a wedding dress that skimmed the sea as we walked along the shoreline together, our future spreading out ahead of us, glistening in the early evening glow. Maybe you would have surprised me with an unruly bunch of cosmos and bluebells when I found out you were pregnant. Maybe we'd have one or two dogs, a comfortable existence, palpable devotion. Lazy weekend mornings spent laying with our limbs intertwined and our coffee going cold. Just us. In the habitual life that we were supposed to have.
I do love to grow old with you, don't worry, am fixing things. I did promise forever and I meant it. I can't imagine forever without you.
Am missing you.