So this is it? You're gone?
What can I say? What should I have said? For three years I've asked myself the same questions- What are you thinking?
, What do you want?
, and Should I say it now?
And now, finally, finally, when I have the last chance to get it out there, when I can finally say it- I squander
And now you're gone.
God! Three years! That's so long!
So now you've gone away. The sunlight already started dimming the day after you left, and the leaves have started their death-flare to red. It is probably best you take summer with; I can't enjoy it now anyway.
When I met you I was young and stupid and shy, and still am, I suppose. I decided I would settle on you. So I gathered information, waited, waited for an opportunity. Now I see that opportunities don't just come along- they have to be made. So we were friends. Then you found someone else and my world shattered.
The last Friday, we talked. I said I had questions that needed answers, but I hesitated again. What was I waiting for? I was still afraid. Not of anything, certainly- what risk was there? Future awkwardness? Why haven't I learned my lesson?
But again I took too long. The next day, you were gone.
Two hundred fifty miles only, but it might as well be the other side of the moon. You'll be back soon, of course. But you'll have changed. New friends, new experiences, too fast. Education from a cannon. Even if you visit in a month, it won't be you. You're gone.
I was a zombie through Saturday. Sunday I cried. Monday I lamented. Tuesday I wondered how I could go on. Yesterday I was caught in unimportant things. I wrote this in my mind for a week.
I don't know what to do. I wondered if it might have been better if you had died, so I wouldn't have to suffer seeing you again, knowing that you're gone. Then I could move on. Instead you're in limbo- You're still here but I can't get at you. You're gone. But I can't move on.
So I'll say it now, now that it's too late, now that it can't change anything- now that you're gone: