i tried to believe, to have the necessary faith so that you would never, never ever leave me. i composed sonnets, verses and whole songs, that meant, that gave spirit to the whole thing.
but my verses will never be read and if they are, you will never know what i meant, unless everything was intense, because i was never so out of my mind.
however, i left, when the personae non gratae of all of us, whose staff are the harvest of my life and yours, arrived and took me, for a small and intimate reason that i never understood or comprehended or could explain.
i only know that i missed you, from january to december, without any holiday, that your lack depresses me like the day of my departure, because i did not and would never have the intention and pretention to go and leave behind the life that i truly wanted to live beside you in the damn forever that i thought i existed.
and to be honest, even here where i will never know if i am really alive, i can affirm and reaffirm, with an emphasis on the flat and cosmic sense of feeling, that i will fucking miss you again for another 366 days, in each season of the year, because i give myself the right to feel happiness and unhappiness, fear and joy and all the rest of damn feeling, in the plural or singular.
and that i can feel it, without exactly giving way with tears or laughter, because the most important thing today and now would be just to live and feel all the love that is in this world so mine, so intimate and private that it should have been as yours as mine. but i will wait for you, not because i died, but because i am still alive, still breathing, still feeling our perfect past tense, without any indication, please, but so mine and yours that no one will understand, i hope.
about everything 