Excerpt from something I forgot

"I pass over your letters and I wonder where you are. You left so little for me to remember you by, and I couldn't dream of how I would reach you now, where you might have gone to. I never went anywhere, if you wanted to find me. The idea that the hand that wrote these words still moves and lives somewhere out in the great wide world settles over me on nights like this, where the trees outside my window are still and spike into the darkening sky and I can't help but realize how everything seems to be illuminated only by the gradually fading light of those days gone by. I don't remember the last thing we talked about, or quite why you had to go. It always seemed to matter just as much to you as it did to me - I try to tell myself that what we shared must not have been quite so important to you as it seemed, but I remember how it felt, and how you held me, and I can neither explain nor forget it. I know all things must flicker out like the sunset giving into another winter night, but it feels like those days never ended, in some far-off sense, like those sunrays we felt and moments we shared burn on somehow. On nights like this, I can't do anything but flicker through the pages again and stare at them empty-eyed, whether its the actual papers or little echoes I still hear. I should go to bed."