Being flushed with emotions; having them exposed on one's skin. To see them arrayed for your other parts to witness.
If thoughts are to pervade, maybe the ones walking here incur to behold the beauty each gesture may contain. Perhaps one's belief is contrary, maybe some long to keep them bedfast.
For me, to see those secrets is an honour. It's something I will always withhold in the deep crevices of my abstruse and cryptic thoughts, only allowing to be put on display if I am ever to see the one that once held those secrets again, and inquire the tolerance to keep them a little longer; maybe write with them. Maybe it's me yearning to exist in that life; to move and breathe the same air as the one I am asking permission. Or maybe it's to fall sleep in the same hand-me-down bed sheets of a figure I once took such admiration to. I bet I would find pieces of your continuance hiding in all the folds. Maybe I would find my own reality harboring all the same.
It took me so many moments to acclimate being in more than one piece. I thought we'd meet at the junction, but I never heard the footsteps, or saw the brief stretch of smile I had been anticipating. Now, I am standing at a critical juncture of two fleeting lives I never accomplished to appreciate.
My apologies exceed anything I have ever felt before, and I cannot even begin to apprehend where to go from here.
But the one I once knew is now a stranger I want to know.
You are gone.
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