Dear You,
It’s exactly nineteen years since that luminous morning when we smiled and said goodbye. That we would see each other again was never in doubt, was it? It was a question of when, not if. In fact, it wasn’t even a question. The future might have seemed as insubstantial as the curled edge of a dream, but it unequivocally contained us both. Together.
And yet it didn’t. Even after all these years I find myself stunned by that.
Nineteen years since that day. Nineteen whole years! And I’m still looking for you. I will never stop looking for you.
Often you appear when I expect it least. Earlier today I was trapped in some pointless dark thought or other, my body clenched like a metal fist. Then suddenly you were there: a bright autumn leaf cartwheeling over a dull pewter lawn. I uncurled and smelled life, felt dew on my feet, saw shades of green. I tried to grab hold of you, that vivid leaf, cavorting and wriggling and giggling. I tried to take your hand, look straight at you, but like an optical black spot you slid silently sideways, just out of reach.
I will never stop looking for you.