We like to keep that one person, like an anchor. Like a song that always gets you. No no no, not like your comfort food. There’s no comfort in loving something or someone you can’t have.
It’s the friction that scratches the thin skin of your ankle against the edges of your basketball shoes when you run. It burns. But it makes you run nonetheless. It makes you go on.
A writer once said something about the intimacy of looking at the stars, at the sky and having this person who sees exactly what you see. That intimacy transcends the act of that person actually looking at you, heck that person may never look at you. But it doesn’t matter because anyone can look at you, but not everyone sees the world like you do.
And somehow the sky reminds me of you. Like the first few chords of an eight minute song. We keep that one person, don’t we. Cos we can’t lose something we never really have.