Mosaic of my heart
We have not talked in months, or maybe years. I do not remember your favorite colour or the reason we stopped talking. Is it cloudy as my feelings towards you, after so long, I am not sure anymore. Were you good for me? Irrelevant now...
I am now thinking of your eyes in the sunset because I made a cup of tea, just the way your mother made for us after school. My passwords still contain the day I met you, and I cannot remember when we stopped talking. When did you transform from the dynamic movement of the ocean waves to a static snapshot of a ship in the storm? I cannot hate you when your memory tastes like sweet tea and dreams of the future.
I hear a joke and your laugh from a decade ago, I cant remember your voice but the energy of the moment explodes out of my cells every morning when I see the sunlight. You are an entity in my universe's space, just an aura of a presence long gone, but I am created of little parts from you.
The tea made by your mother, the joke made by your father, your laugh like pearls falling... I laugh like you and live like I was part of your tribe, I just hope you would see one time, we are more similar than we could have seen. I live with your touch on the inside of my heart. You are too far to feel it radiating love towards you, because a shard always knows its glass.
We stopped talking because we were too different, that is probably what happened. But how are we so different if I live every day like you taught me to? How can I not think of you if I know I am living each day hoping to somehow make you proud. I cannot call you to tell you how good the movie is, as I have seen it half a decade after it was already late. How can I start a new chapter with you when the book was ended long ago and even the author is now dead?
The book of us is done and already dusted, but just like the paper, it is infused with the knowledge of life. The knowledge of living and enjoying life. I cannot share the sweet tea with you anymore but I can share a sweet thought towards you.
I wake up in the morning, i stand up how he taught me, lifting my legs and letting gravity raise me up. I do my coffee like my father made my first coffee in highschool, I make my eggs the way my grandmother was doing it for me before kindergarden. I am made of a mosaic of all people around me. When am I starting and ending and when do you start and end, when do they start and end in my actions and lifestyle. I am the primordial soup of society effect.
And now many years later, late enough all the memories are fuzzy, I still put two of sugar in my tea, and I cannot remember who taught me that. Who am I if not a mosaic of all the people in my life? When you departed, I feel my wall breaking in pieces, I thought the grout is breaking apart and leaving me a ruin of what you built, a shadow of the successful antique and primordial philia between us. But I see myself now, many years later, the tiles are dusty and the image behind them is not as clear anymore but the feeling is as strong as it was decades ago.
I miss you but I feel your ghostly hug around me. I miss you, even so far in this universe, I hope you think about me as well, my mother's cake which you liked and the sweets we used to share from the nearby shop. I hope these years later, the rage you felt towards me is gone... I can see the burn marks on my mosaic, the wall ends with an ash mark. I cannot make myself clean it, the gray of the soft powder looks like sad snow. Cold like snow, but representing the death of so many moments.
This is not a phoenix situation, the ash burned long ago and the mosaic is ended, we cannot keep building that, but you are more than welcome to come and visit it together with me. Just to talk about the methods we used decades ago and what we learned from the ash. I hope your mosaic still has my pieces, I hope you did not break them in the fire rage, I hope you feel like me. I hope that even in this no contact isolating universe, the aura i feel is yours, I hope is really you and not the memory of you. I hope the fire you used to burn my temple down is gone, I hope we can meet to visit each other's temples.
I hope at least that I can keep my tiles put by you, I hope I will get old and drink the same sweet tea that travelled decades and continents, same laugh that lights up rooms even when your heart is in darkness. I hope I can die hugging the mosaic you help built and at least the memory of you. I hope I will fogive myself to let your memory wander without the guilt of the fire and ash. I hope the pass of time would not crack any tiles, I cannot bring myself to ask how to take care of them, why would you help me after the fire? I am too scared to find out what happened to you... do you still build the temple? Have you destroyed my walls? Have you cleaned the ash and started a new wall? Have you left a burned artwork like me? Are we still so close or our temples are as far as the universe allows? Would we visit each other ever or we will just end up in the archive of the Star Dust?
