Now and Then

In my quiet moments I'll be still and with some timidity, let my thoughts float back to you. Only in this perfect solitude will I allow that freedom, only when I'm truly alone. Those thoughts are still painful, it's true, but that pain is tempered by sense, a realisation that things happen the way they do for good reason. All they said about things moving on was true, and yes, I'm fine, I've got myself, I've got those who care to stick by me, and the world progresses like it always did, only without you in the centre of the picture; somehow you've moved to the periphery, present, but blurry, a ghost, or a shadow, felt but not noticed. Maybe one day you won't be in the picture at all.

Maybe one day a lot of things will happen. Maybe I'll stop feeling you when you aren't there. Maybe I'll forget what your hand felt like in mine. Maybe I'll walk away with my clothes covered in the smell of someone else's cologne. Maybe one day I won't think of you anymore.

But not yet. As yet, I still remember what all of that felt like. I still remember the warmth of your body next to mine in the dark, I'll remember the things we laughed at, the things we fought over, the tears we cried, and the way we timidly loved. Oh yes, I remember, but I don't let that control the way my life heads anymore, I simply recall, revel in it for a few moments of loneliness and solitude, and then throw myself into the next thing to forget. But we'll know the truth, you and I, it'll be our secret, because we know that every now and again, I think of you.