You are the silent obsession of the days.
You are the hidden texture in the fabric of the hours.
You are the attacking chord of the silent soundtracks of my awakenings.
You are the base note of the scents of my memories.
You are the shaded brushstroke on the canvas of my impressionist emotions.
You are under, in and around all things.
You are the refrain, the unchanging constant and the continuous return of those who leave without ever going away.
You are the tide, the wave and the undertow.
You are in that "see you soon" of the last time I saw you, behind which the echo of the farewell of the last time I see you can always be hidden.
You are the suspended time of waiting.
You are everything else that the edge of a photo excludes.
You are the syllable of the broken word that goes to head.
You are the watermark that makes my thinking of you authentic.
You are the anecdote that cannot be told.
You are the silence that says it all.
You are everywhere and always.
You are here where you never are.
