I tried to conjure you up. Sometimes saying your name aloud is enough. I miss that. It has become alien since I’ve been in London. There’s no need for you to be here, no one talks about you anymore.
I’m not even sure there is a want. I feel confused about you, still. It disturbs me that I don’t have control over the memories of you I want to keep. Is it because you are not real? You’re just somebody that I used to know. Am I such a realist without you, I can’t feel your magic? I’m so much else…so different. Those dreams just seems daft, and I don’t really own them. Am I so half-hearted?
When I was trying to sleep last night, the breeze from the open window caught fly-away hairs around my face, and for some reason I felt like you had sent it. I felt you. I was half-dreaming. But perhaps I’ve been half-living.