By the time I booted up the text to speech I wonder if I have forgotten the words I wanted to say…

Yet. As soon as I think that – I remember the words.

And yet I feel the words get stuck in my throat. Whether, it is that I don't know what to say exactly, or wish to say them. Or something else entirely.

But, here I go. I can't take you where I thought I was going to take you anymore.

I can't say the things that I once could say. And part of me is amazed by you still – and I wonder if you've completely moved on. Or is it something of necessity. To bury yourself in the work. Your work. To put the carpet over the cracks and the floorboards that I was trying to replace.

Was I in the wrong?

Or do I have to wait. Until you open your heart again for me to show you the place we can go.?

Two or let the coals cool out for now. Buried under charcoal.

And yet as I write this – I'm not really sure if it's for myself, you, or the woman I will someday meet. And yes all of these are intertwined. But I never imagined my life alone. Our particular desired it to be so. But that this is only one that I can chart. And how badly I wanted you to be a part of it because, of all the doors that seem to open in the house of my mind the hotel of my soul. The tenants, the visitors sometimes scarcely saying hello to the clerk of my consciousness. Instead drifting to the rooms and exiting at their pleasure. Trapped behind the reception desk of my life – without choice or voice.

Someday. For someone. I hope there is future I can show them. And yet, for all the tenants in my soul – the future awaits. I love each and every one of them. Assistance at the seem –. As distant as they seem*they are all dear to me. Colours of the portrait of the man that I am. Rivulets of the rain that performs streams into the gutters into the rivers to the sea.

And yet. No matter how much I try to crawl into my web of words, the cloud of thoughts that is my consciousness… I see the ghost of you. The faint image of a woman I danced among the petals in the breeze of the autumn of my soul before the winter of our love. The roses which did not regrow after the freeze.

And yet. No matter how earnestly I wish to race towards the future – my hands are rather broken. And I spend my days watching shows – doing absolutely nothing. At least as much as I can. So I can heal. I wonder if I'm healing or breaking just slowerly.

And yet. No matter how earnestly I wish to waste towards the future – I stop. And wonder. I wonder if it is one without you. Our one someday you will forgive me, or we'll be in a place where I can show you the future I see in my mind and longed for in my heart.

Yet, no matter how earnestly I wish to race towards the future. The moment is now. And I have lovely friends – as distant or as strange as tenants in the hotel that is my life and memory. No matter how earnestly I race, or try to stop the tick of time. We can only see what will come in – when it arrives.

Thank you for loving me.