“You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift that she wanted you to have, but it’s lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you can not interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.

Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone from the doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.

Whenever it rains, you will think of her.”

- Neil Gaiman

I don’t know what clicked into my pathetic overactive brain but I think of her again. I don’t know what triggered it or how would things become the way they are now. I don’t know where is she, what is she doing, or who she is seeing.

What I only know, is that somehow I want to stay in this way. 

Just thinking of her, yet not meeting her again.

I don’t know what and how to talk to her if I could see her again. I am pathetic and I know it.

I know it, what a coward I am and I have always been. I know it.

I miss her.