Such a simple thing.
Some day you will become lost to me forever; never to be found. Never to be held in my possession and departed from me like a person lost in a crowd. You are no longer seen, heard or known. I attend with defeat your having wandered from the way; uncertain as to your location. If I lose all my illusions, what a terrible reflection I will be left to stare. There was something that had been, something delicate, and far away but is now shut out behind the doors of mistakes we made yesterday. Lost beyond the mountains. But, no matter how far away you are, you are always present.
In losing yourself from me, you discovered yourself. You finally found what was lost again and again. I wished while searching for you, I would find myself but I would settle for just an understanding. Maybe even make a right out of a wrong.
Often your name comes up during a normal day. You are at that moment standing right beside me. In the style of you, who pioneered that most perfect perception, I fondly speak of you as if it is still February. Then later in the hours of weariness, sensations still fresh, I will try to account for the degree of emotion. That element of tragedy is wrought in the very fact of its frequency.
Pick up the phone and save my life. Refrain from the strong temptation to continue inflicting harm with your punishment. You could find fairness and kindness when excessive hatred might be preferable. Your laws are harsh and severe. I learned that when you insulted me before you killed me. You should have just punished me with a fine and not death.
