When You Think of Me

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If you think of me, listen to a song or two. The missingness that you feel, shall painfully pass and uncurl like a vintage picture reel. Nights morph effortlessly into mornings, transformed by the first rays of gentle sunlight.

If you think of me, remember that I carry your presence. The deep yearning that stretches across distance and time, diminishes with each passing breath of tender recollection. Far apart and dissimilar as we are, our inner worlds are not entirely different, precariously bridged by a sliver connection.

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When you think of me, a magpie sings. Put that melody you heard in an email, send me a link, and write me a poem. Words on a page spring forth as trembling leaves cleave for the kindest touch of light. Petals glisten with the caresses of morning dew.

There will come a day when it matters less today than yesterday. A time will come when your heart skips a beat, our energies will meet. Somewhere across vast oceans, there is a silhouette of you standing at the doorway holding a black ashtray. Unable to sleep, I search for you in my lost cache.

Under the canopy of night, before dawn takes flight, the long and lonely road is almost bearable, with temperate thoughts and loving snapshots. On the wall, your arms encircle my waist. Lying supine, side by side, we listen in silence to the primordial dance of falling rain.

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Pictures of me and pieces of you, hang on a wall big enough for us two. In another lifetime, you and I waltz to a random collection of YouTube links found in a digital mailbox. There is a scrawly handwritten note and a polaroid on the fridge. The picture shows a box of bones buried under a mossy rock.

We find a book of love poems on the bookshelf. You pick it up and read it to me. An unknown but familiar feeling washes over me. From an abysmal depth, an ancient memory stirs to a forgotten time when we were still young and carefree. As you turn the page, I close my eyes, needing to breathe. It was the day before Christmas Eve.

A vague and tender memory unpeels the breath of living words aching on a page; there is a sense of eternal longing for sunset walks with an mp3. A summer breeze caresses my hair and reaches yours, too. Momentarily, distinct portals collide. There is a loud prolonged scream and the sound of broken glass cascading. Outside the window, a quail begins to cry for a lost friend.

Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash[image error]

When You Think of Me was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.