When we had happened, it was too new and hopeless for believe it to be bad. It seems your philosophies even changed as time passed and you widened your belief systems. But it broke down, eventually, little by little. And we just saw it happen. Two silent spectators on two sides of the bridge with the widening crack in the middle.
We drifted apart and you were happy. I tried to be. Things do not always work how we want them to, but one day, you found me again. I'd been lost and wandering and finally found my way back home. To the familiarity of you and your being there in my life. A strangeness might have carried over, for time does change a lot. But in those strong enough arms of yours, I felt happy again.
I could not and would not fall for you again, or so it seemed I had conditioned myself to believe. You would never have worked on 'us' again. I might have been able to. But I knew I shouldn't have to. And open wounds evidently do take much longer to heal. Even the finest of stitches can tear...
I found the warmth in those arms once again and after that, it was gone as quickly as it had come. Eventually, we parted ways. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. Every single goodbye till now had made me feel stronger about what we shared. This was a collapse of the accumulated strength.
Standing there alone in your balcony just made me want to have unsaid certain things, acted differently sometimes and be more yours than I felt standing there. I wished you could come back slightly but you would not. I just wore your warm jacket, caught the whiff of your cologne from it, and lit a smoke. I remember the shade of the sky that evening:a dark shade of purple - the serene field of memories, just like your overused blanket.