And then what remains is their memory. The image we have created inside our heads. A grey skin covers what we felt for them and can no longer feel.
To paraphrase John Green, you can never love someone as much as you can miss them. It is true. And there’s nothing more unbearable than the realization that you can hope all you want for someone to come back and they will never come back, because they never really existed.
Such an odd things happens: people tell us who they are, yet we pretend we don’t see it because we want them to be who we want them to be.
But don’t worry, because time heals everything. Whether you want it or not. The longest distance between people is time, for it blurs that picture we have. It fades everything away.
But something always remains. The Portuguese call it “saudade.” The love that remains. Nostalgia. The love that no amount of poison can ever kill. The love that eventually alters itself to become what is left when nothing can be done anymore. The bitter sweet feeling that engulfs memories.
And we carry people around like this. Inside our heads. And we go on with our lives. Whether we want it or not.
And, in a way, they never leave. But they never return to us either.