Some days I find myself frustrated, filled with words I want to say and yet as I write them, I choke on those very words. Perhaps they are not meant to be on the page as someone had once said. Perhaps they are meant to be said to you and you alone. I could fill the pages of an empty journal, journals that would sit covered in dust, their words hidden away from all eyes, including yours. They would wait to be shared one day, when time has passed us by. How sad that feels, something lost, love hidden in the pages of a book, words read by a stranger for whom they were not written.
In truth, there are journals I have written, filled with the first thoughts about a bond I have never been able to explain. I still keep them for the thoughts that I find impossible to put here. The last days have found me struggling to tell you more, to try and capture the words that can explain to you what it is I feel. This struggle has been reflected in my most recent posts.
The last few days have found me surrounded by the strength of that bond, and I wonder how it finds us. Do you feel it too, or does it pass you by in a shadow, a soft whisper almost heard. As is the way of many things, I suppose I may never know. I will look for you in dreams and listen for the words I find there. As for the waking hours, I will listen there as well. Wear something blue, and I will know that you are here listening for me as well.