This isn't the person she loved. This is a different person. When she was in love, she loved a person with an opened heart. You could see everything in it. The love which was in there, their bond, their joint passion, was in their smile.
Now he likes things... who knows what? He's a stranger. God, he's a stranger. She looks at him with amazement, in awe, and speechless. He likes things she knows not. He's become a new person. God, what's happened? When they loved, he was interested in things. God, he was interested in things that made sense.
And now... ever since it disappeared, she can't tell who he is.
She remembers a person, a ghost long gone. "Every day is déjà-vu. A déjà-vu of me and you. I see you, I feel you. I can smell your hair. God, I can smell your hair.
-Me.
12/19/'94"
He wrote her these words. When he wrote them they were so romantic. God, they were romantic. But now they describe her daily life.
Few live out their dreams. Even fewer, their nightmares.
As for her, she's one of a kind.
Adonis Agha
May 14, 2006
{kwoo§hie}* said...
for heaven's sake.
go write a book.