I remember seeing you there,
Your onyx hair glinting in the sunlight.
I remembered thinking you were beautiful.
This, of course, was when I still believed in you.

I had reached out to touch it, make sure it, you, weren't a dream, like all the others.
But you turned then, your eyes soft, even when they were coal black.
and still guarded. so much like mine.

I thought we could do it together.

I was wrong.

Sometimes I wished I hadn't been.

I took your hand instead, the one you always offered, the one that was always cold. At least, colder than mine. Then again I always did have hot hands. It was the Italian in me.

I always wondered what it was in you.

We walked home, never saying a word. I never minded. I thought the silence was more meaningful. And I was forever searching for meaning.

It was a meaning I would never find.

When we got to the door there was never anything. No kisses, no hugs, not even a goodbye. You just released my hand, and I walked in. I always watched from the window though.

What I didn't know was that I was preparing myself.

You would have thought I would have been heartbroken. Maybe I was, and I just didn't happen to notice. I was, after all, already broken. Maybe that's why? We were both broken. I had thought we could live in harmony? Maybe that's why it hurt? Because I was never right to begin with? Maybe you were the one who cured me. I had cried. Finally. Maybe it was a long time coming, but... I never thought it would be over you..

Maybe... though.. I should stop all this conjecturing, this hypothesizing, because you were not, on the contrary, anything that could be scientifically broken down. Maybe I should just stop all these second hand speculations

because

I still didn't know what had ever happened to you

june 11 (finished on aug 23'09)