T

T sat at the end of the row of performers, playing his balafon. the evening sunlight poured through the window and gleamed on your red curls and i thought you looked beautiful. that was a year ago. i still think you're beautiful, and i don't think i'll ever change my mind.

it still awes me each time we say good night, of how kind and wonderful you are. how genuinely patient and acceptive. and forgiving. and with that i cannot shake off the feeling of guilt. yes, i love you, but not enough. never enough. and trust me, i'm sorry. because i'll never meet anyone as genuine as you. but there's not much either of us can do about it...

sometimes i sit and wonder about what i'd do without you when i go home. the loneliness and the hard edges of living in this city are always softened by your voice over the phone. i call you when i'm lonely. i call you when i'm happy. i call you when i'm depressed and restless. i call you when i'm upset. i call you when i just want to ramble. i call you when i'm walking home in the dark and scared. i call you because i know you'd listen, you'd stay on the line till i get home safely; you'd accept me as i am, however confused and messed up. i can never do enough to return your kindness. never. and it sometimes fills me with sadness. i wish life is a little bit more balanced. i wish i can do more...