To you..

And I remember your eyes, and the words inside them screamed at me in dead silence. There were no words spoken, but the echoes won't stop. I wish you would speak to me, and that you would reach out and channel to me your undying warmth..

My memories of you are almost joyously transient. I still love you, however... Every memory of you manifests an abundance of vicious lashes and burns. I wish I could forget. I wish I could remember without the overbearing desire to forget..

They were so bright; they gleamed with such acceptance, such solemnity, such beauty. I told you that you would be fine, but it wasn't really to you, for you had already accepted your fate. It was I, and it is still I, who had not and has not.

If you could see me now, you would be proud. Some part of me wants to ask: "Why?" I know.. You were always proud of me. I wish I could see you one last time, and hear it. I want to know that you are proud, I want to know what you think I should do. I would gladly do it..

I fear to hold another. I love her so dearly, but I fear to hold another. I held you. Before the end; after the end... I fear cold hands. I fear my own, for they are cold. I want to hold her and have her feel safe, but part of me is so deathly afraid that life since then is a dream. Life is a dream, and as soon as I hold her, I will be holding you again, cold, alive, and deniably deceased..

I love Alex, but I fear to hold her.

Please tell me, are you still proud?