Outa line

You never told me. But I know, Buddy.

I know her absence has torn your heart to pieces, how it brought such a solitude in your soul even I can't mend. But I never imagined you were still talking to her after all these months, as if your unanswered words could somehow fill in the tragic gap between the two of you, as if your unspoken plea could keep you sane.

I can hear you. I'm listening to what you don't say.

I'm watching you tonight, restless in your bed, as you're fighting a bad cold fever. Raindrops are washing away the last traces of winter. Silent tears are wiping away the useless fight on your weary face as you're trying to let go, at last.

I searched for tissues in a drawer and I found something else. I found the letters. Lots of them. I read the tender words you wrote for her. The ones she'll never hear. Words of love. Of life. Little things which occured every day. A few joys. The pain you would never have told her, because you always wanted to protect her.

How I know you loved her, even though you were apart! I witnessed it all, remember? That's why I'm here at your side, now more than ever.

No one will ever replace her, not even me. But I'm relieved to see you cry tonight, for the first time.

Let her go, pal. Stop writing. Chin up and straight ahead.

I watch you relax in your sleep as if you can hear me through your fever. The tears are washing away your last resistance. Finally I understand. There won't be another letter today, nor any other day.

The Fridays empty calls are over.

Sleep well now.

Tomorrow is another day.