Perhaps you wonder why everything I write is about you. And while it may seem like an easy thing to answer, like so much of life, the obvious is not always right. I write about you not because I miss you or still wish you were with me or even because I still love you, though all of those are true.
No, I write about you because to not do so is an impossible task. Thoughts of you rattle around inside me, the only things keeping me alive. My heart beats not to it’s own staccato rhythm, but to the faint echoes of your voice that still remain behind. It is not oxygen that my blood carries, but memories of you, flooding every inch of me. When I close my eyes, it is not to darkness but to visions of you. It is your words that suffuse my brain, drowning out my own. The electrical impulses that race along my nerve endings spark with the passion we once shared. As my fingers dance across the keyboard, the only message that ever manages to get through are my leftover feelings for you.