So many days have passed. So many laughs. So many cries. So, so many days. But not a single day has passed that the thought of you has not crossed my mind.
I write this as I sit here, curled up in your sweater, wondering, knowing that you are reading every word that I type. You are here with me, but I cannot see you. You are now just alive in my memory. In my imagination.
I worry about you sometimes. Up there. Not alone, but yet so lonely. What have you thought about through these many, many days? The same as I, perhaps? Only you know, but maybe you don't. I will never know.
Are you still here with me? In the minds of many, you are. But I know. I know that you are never here for long. Short visits, sometimes. But never forever. I know you better than the many who think differently than I. I know where you are, all the time.
Are you proud of me? This is the question that haunts my every move. Will you approve? I can never be sure. You don't approve of much unless it has anything to do with your interests, dated back to 19—who knows when? I try, I really do, but I never know if you approve. I want to tell you so many things but I can't make up the nerve to do it. You already know. I don't have to tell you because you already know.
So many days, so many accomplishments. I know you know. But there's still so much to tell. So many things I wish to share. So, so many things. These things are sometimes good, but that's not always the case.
I try to live by you. By what you have done, what you have taught me. But I cannot remember. Sometimes I lie, but I lie so well that I believe these lies about you. I know there's so much shame in this but sometimes I just can't help myself. I feel like these lies bring back memories of you, though they never happened. I just don't want to forget.
So many days have passed. So many laughs. So many cries. So, so many days. But not a single day has passed that the thought of you has not crossed my mind.
