It's our seventh year together, and my seventh year of being away from her...
I didn't really want to her to go - I know that she loved me. We were happy together, happier than we had ever been (or could ever be, perhaps). She was the future that I dreamt of, the future that could have been mine. Except that I ran away from it, from my happiness. I was too afraid it would leave me... I left that happiness.
Not that I miss her day and night, no! It's just when I least expect it that she comes - unpredictable as always. You know, that's why I hated her. She was so full of contradictions, in fact, all about contradictions. When she looked too happy, it was to hide herself from the sadness that was eating her. And when she was crying, you could be sure the next moment she'd be laughing at you for believing her crocodile tears. She lied with such authority, that her moments of truth looked like a saga of lies. She thought with her rational heart, and feeled with her sentimental mind. That is why I hated her... And loved her.
Because life was not a journey with her - it was a quest. Everyday you had to win her anew. She was not the same person you met yesterday, or could expect to meet tomorrow. That is why I loved her.
After all these years, I still find her memories scattered around me, here and there, now and then. As if you open a long-forgotten favorite book, and a rose that you had put in it years back makes you remember something and smile all of a sudden, or fills your heart with gladness (or sadness) - that is how her memories are. Fragrant, forgotten and fragile.