A holiday from heartache

My little squirrel, how you hated that nickname. Yet your brown locks and eyes still leave me with fond memories. I have not heard your voice in many years, but still I hope to know you one more time. To hear about your life, your lover and everything else I may have missed. We could talk in the lighthouse we planned to live in: one floor of books and dvds, one of spirits and wines and the last had a bed for two. That was the fantasy that we wrote while we were drifting away from each other. Instead let us dream of you and I in Vegas; the bright lights and energy that could let us forget our reality for a second. We would drink champagne; gamble our wealth away and the next morning be married and full of regrets. You’d have talked me into a tattoo and there would be pictures of you swimming in a fountain in your wedding dress. What a mess we would have gotten ourselves into, but at least we would have been together. You don’t think of me anymore though. You will never reply to my letters or cards, but I still dream of us in Vegas and part of me always will.