I can stare at your pictures for hours. And I can’t still understand you- the smallest, tiniest thing about you is a mystery. Unfortunately, it’s simply a mystery to me. If you love something, even a thing, you feel its every contour, open it out, explore every inch of it and try to remember every crack- or how the light glides off its surface. To everyone else, it’s just a phone or may be just a car- but to you- that would be something so important- every memory attached to that object would replay every time you think about it.
So I look at you some more. All I have are photographs and memories. I know I’m looking at the picture of a guy, who- like so many guys- is just another guy in reality but I put him up on a cloud in my mind, so high- that he’s looking down at us all while we look up.
It’s like somebody very intelligent once told me. “It’s never a cloud that comes in front of the sun, but a cloud in front of our eye.”
To me, your every look has a meaning. Are you looking into the camera? Having a good time with friends? Were you thinking of me during this time?
Through the blur of tears in my eyes I see..you are wearing the t-shirt I gifted you.