When I left, I looked back and felt something. Like the decision I had made left me with more questions than answers. I looked back and saw you. Except this time it’s you leaving, not me.
This one last time will you follow me? Will you grab my hand and follow me to my favourite spot up on The Rock? Will you sit with me and listen to my babble – the way that I overthink outloud all while the waves crash against us. We can watch the storm roll in, and the sunset fade into the distance – my favourite part of the day. Will you listen to the way I’m explaining myself and not making any sense at all? The way I feel something between us – alive yet unfamiliar, detached, almost guarded. Not wanting to feel something that isn’t there, but feeling nevertheless.
We both have so much living to do, but would you visit me or I you? Not the kind of promise that never happens, but the promise that follows through? Will you show me your favourite places & I show you mine? Will we have road trips through countries we’d only ever dreamed? Or would we not talk again? If I see you this last time will it be at our end where you go your way, as I’ll go mine?
Will you wait with me until nightfall, just you and I still chatting on my Rock? Will you just stay in the silence of the night and listen to the crashing of the waves? Will you tell me how you feel, or how you don’t? Will you look back for me and feel what I felt for you? Will you stay and tell me?