Work Text:
batoto, batoto..
oh how i yearn for a reality where she is still by my side, within arms reach, next to me and i can feel her warmth — but alas, i shall not ever have the pleasure of her presence again and so i must continue in solitude. despite my ever longing for her touch once more, she is null. the smile that would come ever-so naturally within her presence, the warmth in her blue-green eyes and the laughter we shared is no more. i mourn in gratitude for the time we spent, i grieve for the future we could’ve had.
i cannot bring myself to say she’s in a better place, for as selfish as it may seem, for her trace to be seen once more would recompense the devastating life I am to lead — so i say, but i know that one last glimpse of her is insufficient. this burning desire to hold her in my embrace, which seems as though it may engulf me, is a flame that only she can extinguish.
her disappearance, a vicissitude to my life, leaving an ache in my heart is one i lament. now, nothing but her inanimateness is all that remains. forever insentient she is, no more of her exuberance and bliss to grace me. as i eagerly await her return, her absence cuts through the silence — a reminder of her unfulfilled promises and the fact that she’s deserted me. not voluntarily, perhaps out of obligation. but who am i to interrogate her when she cannot respond? everlasting isolation now to follow, but desolating my heart has been excessively harsh from her.
i yearn to covet her once more — but my consciousness ties me back to reality.
must she torment me so? her lacking presence has left me in misery and despair. she’s left a void that cannot be filled, a thirst deemed unquenchable and a hunger insatiable.
and i miss her. most ardently. as i drop the pen and my vision begins to blur, aware of the truth; this ever impending letter will never reach her. im left with a bitter taste in my mouth and as my throat begins to tighten im left with a shortness of breath. the ink begins to smear and my last words become indistinguishable. must the time we spent have been so ephemeral?
born the same year as i, but in the end i will outlive her. perhaps.