Was it a nightmare? I don't know. At least it's a nightmare I'd like to keep.
I could forget it, slowly. Until it disappears completely. As if it never happened at all.
I will forget the conversation, that brief glimpse of you - the smile, as well as that apparent grief that crossed your face. It's clear: you wanted to tell me something. And I'm not even sure if I got it right, but what I'm sure is that it stirred something in me. I may forget this meeting, but I am sure as hell that I'll never be able to forget the feeling.
At this moment, I can feel the memory slowly slipping away from me. Like grains of sand I can't quite catch no matter how hard I try. In time, I'll be left with these tiny bits and pieces that, for all I know, are not even enough to make a whole.
But I'll find a way to make sense of you. I swear, I'll always find a way.
"And this is why I write," I thought. To preserve you, to preserve this. There would come a time when I'll try to remember this moment: when I'll try to paint with words but will fail. But when I read this, I'll be able to remember the feeling, or at least try. And for now, it is enough.