These small hours

I'm not the kind of person who cries easily.

I'm just not. When G "betrayed" me, and I was heartbroken to the extent that the world seemed to be going by in slow motion, the only time I cried was when I flew to Indonesia to say a last goodbye to her parents, and to pass them something I never had the chance to give to her personally.

It was when her mother, amazingly good woman that she is bless her soul, sent me an SMS that read "in my heart, you are already my son" that I cracked.

Alone in the airport, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, I wept.

When I threw away quite possibly the best person and friend I would ever meet and have, I wept, too, sometimes at odd moments late at night. Always very brief affairs, fiercely crushed by cynicism rearing its head and telling me to move on. In truth, the post traumatic reaction did last quite a few years; my rationalization of it being that she is so extraordinary.

Tidying up your room, your clothes, your stuff last saturday, and today again, and while writing and re-reading some of the letters which I wrote to you, and eventually binned, I found myself tearing so very often.

At the thought of losing you, at the thought of you losing yourself; at the thought of you, succumbing to your own darknesses.

I don't know what it means. And it's not the greatest thing in the world for a guy to admit to. And I'm sure it won't mean anything to you.

But anyway, there is nothing more I'd like to do right now, this very instant, than to just hold you, and comfort you.

It's okay, I forgive you, for faltering.
It's just the way things go; everything will be better in the morning.

And maybe tomorrow, or the day after, we'll have lost each other for good, leading two separate lives.

It's okay.

I still believe in you; be strong, and smile always.