laid pressed between pages of diary,
letters you wrote for me.
i touched your hands within these notes today,
not knowing just why. words
penned, speaking familiar conversations,
echoed in laughter and ease.
a call to believe
          promises we once held,
with open hands.
i didn't forget the times we spent;
tea-breaks in canteen, simple instrumentals on cds,
making breakfast with campbells and cheese,
talking till 3 in the morning.
          reaching out,
grasping on bits of future, uncertain; edges
of aspirations we sketched on skies
drifting, pencilled on wind
starred silhouette trees. having once wished
like children
          upon october night.

i remember 
how little beginnings come framed
in sunshine and moonlight -
they flicker on like quasars
in late evening sky.

*           *          *

     now,
             your letter writes an empty silence

                    for i only hear of my voice;

                         seeking places, sheltered

               from what i held inside.

          you cared enough to let me know-

                    in the end, that was all i sought,

after having held only fragments

               of your memory

          in my hands...

having remembered our beginnings 
and these waking moments of our end, 

truth came hidden in my honesty 
much of which i still try 
to carry through. 

i guessed you never knew, 
even while i loved you. 

In Linus' own words, "This piece was written last year and much of it reflects the pain i experienced when i failed to let go of memories and feelings for someone i cared for.... I wish to dedicate this in memory of a friend whom i never had the chance to say these words to... He's now attached by the way, to a girl... and that gave me the strength not to hold on anymore, but to let go."