A Letter to Someone Afar

Mine, I still exist, but I exist alone. I walk, but I walk alone. I talk, but I talk alone. Even when I do these things with other people, I feel alone. When it is daylight, I know my night has just been doubled. The dark understands me. I still breathe, but I hardly know why. In here, the thumps have stopped. I have failed to keep my appointment with my cardiologist. When I take my pen to paper, I only make lines into figures that sadden me. I fall asleep and my eyes rest, but I do not want that anymore, for when my eyes rest, the rest of my body is thrown into unrest. You, whose voice used to be my lullaby, are my worst nightmare now. With your back to me, I want to touch you, but I cannot move a finger. I call you, but my voice will not form a sound. I fear remembering the past. I do not want to remember any of it. I want to keep flowing like a river, never ever looking back. I just want my years to spring as a cheetah or, preferably, fly with the wings of a peregrine falcon. I was told of a man who could turn back the hands of time. He ended up being a psychologist. He said my matter could easily be resolved by his friend, and so he referred me to him. His friend turned out to be a psychiatrist, and he tried getting me a bed. I am not deranged. When I talk into the air so that it may convey my words to you, people look at me and shake their heads. Do I not pity myself enough? Why can we fast-forward a movie on a DVD or CD player but not our lives? If I could, I would. If ice could thaw, I should be able to dissipate. Or maybe my mass takes longer? I heard your mum is still in shock. I never visited her, for who am I to do so? Your dad is back at work. Your husband surprises me, though. A widower who has remarried within two months of his wife's death. People do not know why I am like this. Your parents chose him over me, and I suffer every bit of it. I told them before you left that I had gotten over you and that I wanted you no more. I was at your wedding. I saw your smiles and I was content. Not happy. Even though I wanted you to myself, at least you found love with him. I was too blind to see behind the façade of your smiles. Now it is too late for everyone to regret. I should have run with you as you suggested, but I thought love was not just about two people. Now I know better. I thought you broke my heart, but I was really the one who broke yours. I broke you with your heart. If only you still had a heart. You might forgive me. But it started with your heart failure, and our beginning collapsed along with everything else. Here is my last letter; let it be a harbinger. If there is no way to turn back the hands of time, maybe all we can do is remain here, among the ruins of what we might have been, and wait for whatever comes next. Yours.