To Tom (6)

Dear Tom,
I don't quite know how to start this. I know. I've been away for too long, and my departure has been cruel and inexplicable. Forgive me. I miss you. I can see you rolling your eyes and to be quite sincere, i am smiling a little at the sight of your face. I've always managed to exasperate you. And you've always managed to tolerate me like no one would. Like no one can. I miss you. The words seem tasteless and inadequate because they are. Because compared to how i feel they're a tiny speck of dust. I've ached for you. I still do, even when i am writing this. Tom, i swear there were days when i wanted to split my heart open on these papers just to get you, but i couldn't. I'd start my letters and my hands would freeze, everything would stand still. The words flee and i am left with nothing but shame. I have no explanation. And I know you ask for none. You know me like the back of your hand, even better I'd say. My days haven't been kind. They're all the same; soulless, tasteless and so very tedious. I always feel like i am running after something, and running away from something. The nights haven't been light either. All my distractions fade and i am left alone with myself which we both know is not the best situation. Tonight, i am feeling quite alright. I was smoking a cigarette in my balcony and Bob Dylan whispered quietly, "the sky is changing colour and i must leave fast." It made me yearn for you and how you're always  whispering "Lightly, lightly, lightly." Dearest Tom, please forgive me. You've always been patient with me. I don't know why, but if there's one thing that i can ask of you (and believe me, it's not without utter shame) is that you'd let this patience prevail. Don't let your heart harden, Tom because if it wasn't for the mere thought of you, I'd have gone mad already. Je pense toujours à toi and how you always held me lightly, quietly.

Love always,