these days mere letters and numbers cannot make up
for the days, days which stand for distance, and distance
which stands between us. beside the glass of gin and tonic
in front of me I scattered all the pictures we had, but that made
absence much more real and tangible. I picked one up.
inscribed at the back was a letter, pointing out how ironic
it was that the shirt I was wearing was not what I thought
it really meant, but you never told me why. you were better
at metaphors and imagery, yet you never told me amidst your
laughter which sounded like angels rejoicing. I took another swig.
I picked another picture, this one a polaroid of us wearing matching
clothes. the others I skimmed through. I took a swig.
until the images formed one cohesive story and blended into each
other like colors brushed onto each other,
until the images played
like a tragedy of a movie,
until the past replayed itself, bringing me back
to a time frame best forgotten and discarded,
until I saw that mere letters and numbers from you
would have to suffice and do.