Maybe I don't want someone to love me. Maybe I'm not even looking for a friend or someone to talk to... or someone who'd take me to a different somewhere... far away... that magical land of dreams. No, I know that's not real. Just a fantasy I keep weaving to get through this life. But loneliness is real. The kind that you feel in a bustling market place. The kind you feel in your heart when you're eating alone at a quiet restaurant... Loneliness that pierces your heart at sunset... during rain... in the receding sunlight of a haunting summer noon. Maybe I just want to share that loneliness with someone.
I've always fantasized you visiting my grave. With a bouquet of white roses, to be placed at my feet. While in eternal bliss I lay. Sitting there for hours, feeling the grass on your skin. Reminiscing my fondness for sunlight, as it plays hide and seek, through the banyan tree leaves. You'd speak to me... about your job, your vacation, your friends and family... and I'd listen. Reversal of roles you see. It's soothing to know, someone will be there when I'm gone... to tell me stories of a world I left behind, and to sing to me, my favorite songs... and lullabies.