I still have your book. Yeah, the one by Albert Camus.
Thaaats right, the stained & torn one! See? Now you remember.
Do you remember the day you lent it to me?
Did you read the one I borrowed you? You know, The Misogynist's Guide.
I wonder what's going to happen.
Sometimes I fantasize about what could have been, if I hadn't been such a coward. If I wouldn't have stepped back and listened to what my gut was telling :"No, don't hide away! Screw what the others are thinking! They only understand what they see..."
But it's too late now. Too late for explanations. For excuses, for fiery eyes, for my presence there.
Too late for disclaimers and conversations.
You probably don't even care about what happens anymore. I'm not sure whether I'm going to make it inside your cognizance as the person who was really different from all of us & tried to open our eyes upon real matters of Life...
It's no use struggling to say
"I'm sorry, but I, too, have my own part of guilt, as well as you do. I know I ran away without ever coming back with a logical explanation, but I had to.
I wish I could have come to your bar's closing party. I wish I could grab your face right now, look you in the eyes, so that you'd know I wasn't lying. I wish I would say something funny and your eyes would smile back at me, so I'd know your lips would gladly forgive mine..."
I'm sorry. And the worst part is that you'll never get to know how you actually printed your persona over one being, at the right time&place in life's course. Just as I was hard-linking something, I noticed the time of submission...So ironic! 'Tis said that if one looks at this kind of times at a watch, he/she is loved by someone. Gibberish! These days I checked my wristwatch only at times like these...