Blue past

Their story had continued.
There was a next chapter.

A chapter that had not been very likely to ever happen.

A chapter that may already be closed, because things happen and at a certain point are over.
But are they, really?
She is not so sure anymore.
She still hears his voice. Something deep inside still swings, it vibrates and sings on that one frequency.

So, maybe it is not over yet. Maybe, it is still on. Because her mind, her soul, everything inside still sings that one song.
It is a nice song.

It is is the least painful one that she had found in months. It secures something deep inside. It calms and still inspires.

She still remembers those words.

Oh, so many words.

She wants to keep them all. She wants to collect them, to have them ready. Have them ready, whenver she needed those.

Those little sparks, to set herself on fire, to get her thoughts out of spiraling, out of painfully scratching the inside of her head, expanding until it bursts open, bursts open all those old scars.

Sometimes, all she needs are the words of another person.

Not one person in particular. Just another person.

Someone to get close with, to explode with. Someone to escalate with, to change. And then move on. Changed.

Sometimes the world is empty. Sometimes the world is a graveyard. This sometimes is when she has not found that person for too long. When for too long, there was not a spark, not an explosion.

That is when she suffers.

And lately, she had suffered a lot.

So his words were precious. Words, she heard while walking through a forest at night.

Words to dig up the past.

The past can be sad. The past can make her sad, can open up stories that will never get another chapter. Stories full of people that will never move again. Stories that have died.

But the past also is still there.

The past with him had been blue.

It had been soft and blue.

Deep at night somewhere in the city, with lights flying by. That kind of blue.
And a scent. A soft scent. A scent that she would never forget. Not, after years without sensing it.

His call gave her the kick. The kick, the spark, the fire, the way out of her head and into a blue memory.

And sometimes, his words can even hurt her, without hurting her.

Just as they did when he asked: „What are you really hiding from, when you cannot be alone?“
Maybe, someday, she will think about that.