Long were the days, I waited for you.
I looked behind me during high noon only to see my shadow. An indicator that North was where my shadowed head was.
I was an investigator into things you could only imagine. Such is the case of history, along with literature.
I did my homework when getting to know somebody. Seeing what I could get away with, while also distilling the amount of respect you wished to earn or deserve.
I dated people, many of them, for the sake of enjoying those occasions. Thrill of meeting at our best, and deciding how exactly we were meant to be loved.
Some needed me, others, if only to be heard. Allowing me to be the backboard toward their honest and failed relations.
And I have my own. But then again, I have myself first and foremost.
Long were the days when I saw fit that we were a possibility. That we had something. That we were something before we put a name to it.
Long were the days when I was thinking of you constantly, yet tangibly, you were unavailable.
How when we were together, time flew. I am lucky enough to love someone as well as they can receive it, to hold someone, in embrace, and to adore that special someone, when time keeps slipping through.
Journalistic Writing