Longing for the blue sweater, your blue sweater, that swallowed me up the way you wanted to swallow my mind and soul. It hugged me the way you did, loose and heavy, both at the same time. Yet after I took it off, we had to make sure none of my hair was on it, in case she found it.
And under the moon, at the castle, on a hill, in the rain, in Germany, drinking beer and eating pringles, talking about philosophy, history, literature, life, love, and distance.
Holding hands like little children, but never going beyond. Like if we started we would never be able to let go of each other. And you had someone waiting for you at home, and I guess I did too. And those words on our final night, "you can fall in love in 3 weeks" but can you?
It's been one and a half year, and now your e-mails are signed by her and you.
But every now and then, I get an e-mail, telling me you miss the beer and pringles, and our walks, our talks, the rain, the hill, the castle, and the shooting star we wished on. And you promise me hugs and tell me no one is good enough, but you don't want me to be lonely either. And I pull out my favorite picture, the one where I'm wearing your blue sweater, and we look like we belong to each other and maybe you were right about only needing 3 weeks.
Stacia
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