To the one I called Warrior

I stand over here where you once stood,

where I had many things to say but said nothing at all instead,

where I choke upon words that refused to leave my dry mouth.

Although fear was never near your presence, I was frightened.

I ignored why, but I was terrified of another "loss", one that I seemed to deserve for once.

I attempted twice, now, to carefully store segments of your company on paper, but I failed both times.

My soul has much to say, unlike the pen I am holding.

All I can say is that, at a wooden table, you made me feel happy, at ease and safe. I was never committed to silly standards. My spontaneity was not threatened in any way.

I cared not to like less, not to take for granted, but I could not care just to care. I was stupid, now, I know.

I remember laughing at my shivering soul afraid of regret, hate and loss, and how the picture got clear only after May!

Now, whenever memories visit, I don't know if I should smile or cry.

Ps: Be good as you once told me to be.