We'll get some lighter heads for our heavy hearts.

I read my blog today, not all of it, but enough to accumulate bits and pieces of your voice, and enough to remember what we once held tight in clutched palms beside cold water. I think of you from time to time, and I feel love mixed with regret, a longing that may never be satisfied, a hatred for everything solid and real that can be smashed or taken away in an instant. Our eyes met once, in an undefinable time, where everything happened at once, and love meant nothing, and we were to build a new world that could never be touched. Do you think of me often? Do you still keep secrets behind those deep black holes, and do you remember the voice that took you so far away from everything we knew? Do you remember when I told you: "Sometimes, people meet and everything is wonderful, but then you realize that it's just not the right time. You have met in lifetimes that don't coincide, and you are forced to wait and die and hope you'll meet again." How fucking depressing is that? How depressing is the truth? "Call me." The last thing you said. Aren't we more than that?
Only in dreams.