I'm here at my desk, suddenly thinking about you. People ask me why I'm acting a bit strange today, and you know what? I can't answer the question because I don't know the reason. You have been on my mind since yesterday, and I have been expecting your birthday more than you (I believe), as if, by some strange quirk of fate, we may forget the previous times and meet as there is no past. All we have is a future.
Practically every day, I spend some time reflecting on the past and attempting to analyze and re-analyze it. In each of these ruminations, I ask myself what I could have done to avoid the outcome that occurred. I wonder what caused the changes in you and me. I'm curious what you're doing and how the present would have differed if history had been modified. Every day, I strive to understand my confession better. Every day, I wonder whether we have a future.
Life has moved on. If you were there, you'd have advised me to move on too. However, there is something holding me back (does anything hold you back?)—something that requires me to wait. Maybe I enjoy this masochistic pleasure, reliving the past and yearning for you, hoping you were here to offer me the tranquility I so desperately crave. According to some, humans spend most of their lives in their memories. The current situation can be upsetting, leaving one to wonder about the future.
I wonder what you're up to today. I wonder if I will be remembered. I wonder if you ever miss me and what it would be like if I were with you. I wish you were here with me. I want all the happiness that I received from you. I hope you can see it too. I'm sure you won't. I hope for the stars and moon, yet those are the odds I must face and overcome. And I'm wondering if we have a future.
