Where We Go After The Fall

Im praying you find this. Like I prayed I'd one day find you. 
I've always wondered what I'd say if I saw you again. If you'd remember me. If you'd remember us. 
I like to hope you would. 
But I also know it'll never happen. 
There's a man I met in China who told me he lights a lamp everyday in front of a photo of his dead wife. That he strikes a bell like any Buddhist does for a God. 
But he wanted me to know that he didn't worship her like he did when she was alive. But that he's grateful she's watching over him. 
I wish I'd known then what to say. 
Something impressive like I could've if you'd been sitting beside me. 

I wish we'd been to Bali. With a couple of journals and souls open to nearly anything. Maybe rented a motorcycle and seen more sunsets than we could have been bothered to count. 
Do you remember that conversation we had about how someone remembers somebody. As a smell, as a taste, as a sight, as a sound or whatever they may fathom. 
I always thought I was a sight oriented person. They eyes to your nose, if I may. 
But maybe we skipped something important. What if you love(d) the person you were remembering? Do the counts increase? 
I certainly do wish I had bottled perfumes of how you smelled on some days. But Im sure I can do without them. 
I think its the small things I hold on to most dearly. That favourite shoe. Your terrible spelling. Your choice of food at that place we'd usually end up at. 
The marks of a dog-eared page on forgotten novels. Those small sticky notes on my laptop screen every morning. 
Droplets of water flowing from you to me from a night in the rain. 

I wish I could ask you now, what you'd like for dinner. I wish I could bring icecream home tonight and not find it tomorrow.
I wish I could roll one, for two tonight. 

I wish you too would be startled by the sound of our son crying now. 

I like to believe that out of all the people in the world, you'd know best that words sometimes don't suffice. 
But there's a diaper that needs changing now. 

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I wrote this out of slight boredom. But I think Im happy with the result. 

The context of the story is left to the reader, ultimately. She could have gone somewhere close and the writer could have over-reacted. Or she could have gone somewhere so far, she possibly couldn't reply if she wanted to. 

I wish I could write a reply to this eventually, to complete the conversation. But its often hard to write as a woman. Or atleast through the words of a woman whose reply would be worth reading. 

Im on a week's (maybe longer) break at Muscat. I think that should be update enough haha

-
V
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Now Listening : Futures - Zero 7 and Nights Introlude - Nightmares on Wax
Now Reading : Nothing 
Now Feeling : Disconnected