Perhaps I am meant to love you like this forever, from afar, where my words can’t touch you.
Perhaps I am meant to love you from my solitude, where I can imagine you whichever way I want.
The fourth of five remembrances that Buddha preached says: “Everything and everyone you know will change.”
It was supposed to be a reminder of how being present is a gift. We must enjoy what we have today, in this very moment, cause change is near - unavoidable, desirable even. And our moment, our gift, our present, could fleet away.
Perhaps I’m meant to love you like this forever, X. From afar. Where life can’t change you, where you live only through the veil of the idea I’ve created of you. Where you remain the same, always. Where I can treasure my memories with you and make them the absolute truth of who are, or well… who we were.
Where you and I stay “we” until there’s nothing else.
Although reality is that “we”, the “we” that was once us now encompasses you and another someone.
How painful is it to hear you building sentences in which your desires aren’t yours anymore but shared? And they aren’t shared with me.
Con tu permiso, I’ll stay with the memories, where your words were a sacred testament conveyed only for my ears.
Perhaps I’m meant to love you like this until there’s no more left to give to anyone else.
Perhaps I’m okay with that.