I’m gonna tell you something. And, it’s gonna sound bad, the kind you’ll never accept but deep down, will always know how true it is.

YOU ARE ALONE. AND YOU ALWAYS WILL BE.

It’s gonna suck, but ‘alone’ is what’ll stay with you till you’re here. You and I can still make a plan. The plan would be to make our plan work, unlike most of the plans that ever get made, just to be ruined with regrets and all that’s broken: hearts, relations and people.

You and I can be our only companions. We’ll take ourselves out to dates, order two cups of coffee at the best coffee shop, and have them both. We’ll walk from one city to another, with our cameras. And I know we’ll see ourselves in people and things we take pictures of.

You and I can sit in the library and cry, holding the best of books in our hands, yet looking out the window at a tree somewhere in the distance. You and I could be the adults who still look at clouds and imagine the animals they’re shaped like, only because the children we were (or could never be) are talking to us in the back of our heads.

You and I could be sitting at cafés, long after we’ve finished our food, with phones switched off and kept in the innermost pockets of our bags.We could be counting stars, even when the Sun is out and disappoint those who cannot. We’ll colour our hair the colour of the Sun, the trees, the sky, even that of blood, all at different points of time or at once. And they, they’ll see us. We’ll make them.

Now, do you remember what I told you? No?

Let’s step back a little and face reality.

YOU ARE ALONE. AND YOU ALWAYS WILL BE.

But, you and I will never be lonely.

You

I'm sorry. 
It's not you I'm talking to.
It's the you you've always wanted to be.

Have you ever wondered: Where did the words you'd written in your diary ages ago come from? Where are the pages that have now turned yellow with time, waiting for the touch of your skin? And where are the questions you forgot to ask as a child?

Have you ever wondered?

The answer's there, right there. With you. In you.

In the thoughts you can no longer put into words, for your heart's in the woods, in the songs of the traveler, who has no care in the world.
In the clouds that thunder with the light of your soul that blinds your eyes, turns your skin damp and cold.
In the mirror you keep looking into, hating what you see. Thinking that that is all you'll ever be. 

But that, my friend, is the answer. 

You are that traveler, singing under the leafless tree, still full of life but with scars that won't heal. 
You are the cloud that rains with melancholy in the sky, roaring with the sins of the days that wait to be forgotten. 

And that is what you look at, when you look into the mirror. 
You look, but, what you got to do is see. You are who you wished to be.