attempts to define

This is me and this is you and this is how it's been. I'm going to pause here and hope you imagine a blank because the truth is, I don't know how it's been exactly. I can't simply categorize it and then push it away indifferently. Seeing everything you do and analyzing it in terms of my classification. My narrow minded, depthless opinion of you. No. Not anymore.

So how has it been in terms of feelings? I'd quote Shakespeare. Something about Caesar and the stars. But I can't remember it right now. It was beautiful though and the first time I heard it (You walked in, silenced us all, looked straight at me and said it out loud) I couldn't understand it but I felt like crying.

People shouldn't be cynical about Shakespeare but that is another story.

But you and I, we're not another story. We go beyond any sort of classification, any secure category. We are the times you tell me about your day. We are the books we've both read and learnt from. We are the laugh we share after I have said something that somehow manages to be incredibly mature and naive at the same.

We'll laugh like that again someday.

But for now and for the record. I really miss you.