[Deleted on 01/17/2015]
[Restored on 04/17/2016]
I think: One campus, I am there and you are there. Between us are constants (like our schedules), probability laws (how likely I am to randomly see you), your aversion to me, and a legal document dictating that I am not to contact you in any shape or form.
On my own, I figured there should be no physical mention of you anymore. My broken pieces have not been moved since you left them. I thought if you did not like their original form, there was no point of reassembling them and finding that their cracks have made them even less valuable and less likely to impress you. To reiterate on what you already know is repetition, and I want to spare you and myself that. Of course, I have moved some of the smaller shards I’ve found through the mess, just to be at least doing something. I did not seek to reconstruct myself out of them but I needed at the very least a functional body. In those smaller shards I learned new things that, while not repetitive, must never be told to anyone. If you doubt my judgment, listen to this one: I became incapable of finding beauty in any female anymore, because I judge beauty with you as the standard. (I told you, nobody ever needs to know about those ugly shards).
In short, if I talk anymore I would either bore you, or disgust you.
I will try to not talk about you, although I see you in the sun and the moon, in other women as the ideal they are trying to achieve (and are falling short of), and in other men as either their most valuable victory, their most humiliating defeat, or, for the unlucky ones, their most depriving ignorance.
To me, this is no easy task because I have some unanswered questions. Why? Would you have said yes in other circumstances? Is it something fundamental about me that cannot be changed?
For a while, I thought if you answered my questions I would be able to move on. But it is obvious to me now that my questions are similar to what a kid would ask if he didn’t get to do something. If they were answered, he would ask more and more endlessly, and he would only stop when he is told “yes.”
Of us, there will be no memory, except for legal papers (our names next to each other were a pleasant sight, despite their surroundings) and your bothered message that I have accepted as my share of you.
Of you, there will forever be a memory as an extreme of sadness as you are of beauty.
I could regret everything, but I accept it as the cost of being aware of you.