Yesterday I found her in a random way in a corridor. It’s funny how we rarely meet each other even being inside the same building everyday. “Great modernist junk” she said. Everytime we met, maybe due to the low frequency we do, we talk about nothing and everything at the same time for long moments.

We talked about our classes and I rememberrd when we used to be together all week long.

We talked about London and I wish I could take her by the hand and run through the world.

We talked about ballet and I planned a way to play all the songs I wrote for her on the piano since we first met.

We talked about getting old and I could only think about get old by her side.

We talked about how empty some people are and I realized how she fills me completely with a simple conversation.

But it doesn’t matter. She will never read this. She will never know it because I just thought.


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