Thursday, August 1, 2013 x 7:33 PM
I used to love looking at sunflowers, mainly because they happened to be yellow, and the polo shirt you wore that day was of the same color -- that day when you handed her a rose as part of a performance, and I hated that particular rose -- and I took the first letter of her name and used it as the first letter of the murder victim's name in the fiction I was working on back then, and you never really believed in fiction but you did write a bit of poetry, and your mouth was poetry in itself and I would stitch your words into a single verse and sing it, in a melody so distinct to how I felt for you and how you filled my void; and the paradox of how I felt devoid of any emotion when I thought of how you could never feel the same way and how I could never fill your void was overwhelming; and your mind was overwhelming as it seemed to me as a vast world I could get lost in any minute, and I was lost in your eyes, null but not exactly dull, and if black could be as bright as that yellow polo shirt you wore that day then the adjective would be appropriate, unlike those feelings, so even if you are always on my mind, I never think about you now.
