It is all well and good to believe that you will know it when you find it, that it will be so obvious you could not miss it.
You’ve been down that road before, and on several occasions were certain that you’d found it in her face, or hers, in her smile, or her laugh, or one of their soft touches and caresses.
You were wrong each time, a facsimile at best, an avatar if you wish, so you are determined to be prepared this time, for there must be a this time you are certain.
You have read all the best books, consulted on the internet, careful to sort the wheat from the chaff, skimmed the cream of the offerings, and have practiced reading the tea leaves.
You dare not miss it so you maintain a high level of vigilance and a focus that is not easily interrupted, ready to spring, but know that it defies logic, that the mind is useless in its presence, and that it is the heart not the head that feels true love.
I would reach out in touch you but as it is my fingers barely reach the keyboard. I would take your picture the next time I see you, but it would appear instantly, no waiting for someone to tell me as you were merely a blurred image appearing days later pulled from an envelope. Perhaps I’ll leave a posting on your digital wall and simply hope you are still alive somewhere just out of reach.
If you stare at it very closely and carefully you will soon see that deep within it there is silence. You may take it with you, it will go along willingly, but if only you don’t try and grasp it. It is soft to the touch, certainly, and has a sweetness that settles gently into the heart, it shimmers as it should, so enjoy it, for it, unlike you or I, is truly immortal.
Two nights gone and sleep has come fitfully, and I stir each time I reach across the bed and you aren’t there, and there is only the faintest smell of bleach and cleaning solvent. I want very much to dream of you, to trace your cheek with dream fingers, to taste your lips on mine, to hear the placid rhythm of your breath, but there is only a stack of unused pillows and the sound of the heater battling to life. I dream of you by day, by night your absence pulls me from the precipice of deep sleep and dreams.