The human skin replaces itself every twenty-seven days. This technically means you have not touched my skin. Your traces still linger, though. It feels like having a phantom organ, I can feel you even though we are not together anymore; emotionally, that is. Like swallows that migrate for better beginnings, back and forth, they lose traces of their path. Have you noticed how they never forget how to come home?
I know how painful it was initially when we started to drift apart. How can we simply disregard all the memories that we had once created? I was not sure if I could live with you being a stranger to me. A stranger who held so many of my secrets? One who I made so many memories with? I did not realize it would be inevitable. You and I had to preoccupy ourselves just to keep our minds occupied, to never stray into thinking about where we stand together.
Occasionally, we walk by each other but we never utter a word, knowing all too well that we would both just blurt out too much about how we have been having a shitty day, shitty week, shitty month. And the fact that we actually still need each other. At this point, our sanity depends on daydreams regarding circumstance where we would converse with each other again and possibly start over.
My thumb still lingers upon your traces on my skin that have now disappeared. We were two fires that burned so bright, eventually leading to burnout. Sometimes I still wonder, can we return back to the old times? Well, in case you change your mind, I will be waiting. In case just like the swallows, you want to come home.