My dearest Pixie... in And here we go.

Have I been a fool to wait for you all these years? You promised to return, and I clung to that promise like a lifeline. I waited and I waited, but you never came back. In my foolish anger and selfishness, I thought that burning bridges between us would make you realize how much you mean to me. I always imagined you were watching from the shadows, too hesitant to reveal yourself.

I am the fool who waited, year after year, and I continue to do so. I still have those two Skype accounts, and I find myself rereading your last messages, lying to myself, hoping that any moment now, the notification bell will chime, and a new message from you will appear on my screen. Or perhaps a new comment from you somewhere, but it never happens. It’s been almost four years.

I feel like an utterly hopeless fool, waiting and withering away, while you never returned. First, I was worried because you left so abruptly. Then, the pandemic struck, and I was scared for you. A year later, anger set in. No, I haven’t gone through all five stages of grief; I’m stuck in depression. In fact, I’m sinking deeper into it. Depression has a grip on me, wrapping around my feet and my heart, and the melancholy song of loneliness and despair is strangely beautiful, even though I know it’s destroying me.

I’ve become like Sisyphus, endlessly pushing this rock uphill, finding a strange comfort in the knowledge that it will roll back down, and the cycle will begin again each morning. This never-ending journey through the darkness makes me yearn for an end.

Yet, I still hold on, to your words, to your smile. I hope and wonder. What if you come back, and everything in the world is set right again?

But it’s been four long years, and I must admit, I am a fool who continues to wait.

And if I only could
I’d make a deal with God
And I’d get Him to swap our places
Be runnin’ up that road
Be runnin’ up that hill
Be runnin’ up that building
Say, if I only could, oh