I have a terrible need to write you. A letter, a poem.. exactly as I used to.. I don't know what's stopping me of getting there.. I don't even know if I have written a poem about you. I must have been unconcious. I don't have any news to write tho and if I start writting to you I fear it ll all end up in a dissaster.
Mary came to stay perminately in Greece cause Alex wanted to meditate for two years (at least). Things changed for good. Alex left his meditation plan after three days and came to Athens to get her. There are getting back, deciding where they getting there place, how many cats ll they get etc.. exactly like we were doing back then.
I remembered today.. all the fucking sidewalks we did. All the amazing nights we were out and the days too. The days when we shopped our green tea from the flea market of Chinatown, our Notting Hill walks most of the Saturday mornings, our tiny Chinese place over Greenwich that made us fatter, your house, our flat. I remember a lot. Even the night we spent at the loo of Belluci's.
Minutes later, you texted you got to Deptford. You had the same things in mind. How far we are now, but how close as well..
I got nothing to say on the phone now. My voice is getting wicked. How much of a life you remind me.. I wish you knew..
Michael I ll always think about you as my soulmate -its sounds so cheesy tho-
I don't think I ll never find another mind, another soul, another body like yours..
You had it all.. yours..