Petite Oiseau

I fly away, but never far.

1997, the year I died.
I hadn't noticed it at the time, but a chain of events were started which have ended here, in this half a heart.
I left for pastures new, for greener grass. Naive. If I could see us now, all those years ago, I'd take me by the hand and show me the ghost of Christmas future.
Do you think there's a parallel universe where we're still as we were? A magical bond, a shared gravity? That electricity that passed between us still shocks me today. It's as real as it ever was.
I like to think that somewhere, in this big, ol' universe, that version of me and you still exists.
But here in this world, I've learnt that you can never go home....