I saw you smiling...like you do when you really wanna cry...but you're too strong for that.  And something deep within me started panting, yearning, to be close to you...to feel your heartbeat against my cheek...to have your smell linger on me, even though I can't tell where exactly it's coming from.  I wanted to stare so closely at your face, memorizing each detail...hoping that I would never forget...wishing that the moment would never end. 

But I was only looking at a photograph of you smiling...like you do when you really wanna cry...but you're too strong for that.  A photograph of you glowing, without even knowing that you were making me yearn.

There is no way to recapture what once was, what was once written...what was once felt and scribed in such detail that only the sounds of the guitar could belt it out.

There is no way to recapture the tears that fell, the ink that dripped...the breath that left.  But she tries to, because it was once such a large part of her...exposed...for the world to see...on the screen...with predictions of what those words meant...of how she portrayed her writ.

And who would have ever seen eight months go by without a word...without a scribe...on that screen that showcased her hurting insides for genuine beings to view and feel.  And is it over?  Has the time gone?  Has it all died?

Should the trumpets play like they did?  Should the piano laugh?  Should the strings cry?  All to bring her back to when her hand moved vigorously to reveal it all...to when her face looked so intense...as though it ached in pain, hoping that she would find the words to describe how her core quivered.  And, back then, her eyes blinked uncontrollably, and she was perpetually cold, yearning for the warmth of another.  Back when she was 'Mrs. Dalloway' taking a hot shower that was so frozen that she had no choice but to wrap her arms around herself to feel the essence of what could be another.  The days when she floated on the colorful tube in the black liquid and twittled her fingers from not knowing her direction.  Back when she stood in the yard through all four seasons...black, wavy hair drenched with what fell from the sky...each drop of water falling to the ground and transporting her to the top of that mountain where those tears almost froze as she released them.  And she blinked for the first time...and in that moment, she realized that she was real.

If only she could feel now and recapture that life of openess...the feelings that accompanied those words.  Back there.