Sweet Miss Darling

Miss Darling, I still think of you. But it seems you have disappeared from the face of the planet.
Still have stages where I start a research and look for you.
I started the search again two months ago.
It didn't deliver. Your name is too common and I can't seem to find the people who were related to you, the time we met.
I talked about you then, when travelling. When memories reorganize and somehow your brain resuscitates moments that were in slumber.
Then I could see so clear our promenade. Our crazy days, your sweet words. The day we jumped on that cab, the evenings in the bathtub squattering those rich people's house, wearing their pearls, drinking their bubbly... You making me look like a woman, you taught me great things!

The communes in Berlin you put up so well with, along with your jet set life. You were unique.
The expectations we had from life. Well, the ones you had. I had no expectations but enjoying everything that was happening around me. You were aiming for something, I hope you found it.

I know you are somewhere not far, for sure, but I don't know how to find you. Or if it would make any sense now. Now that we are older... Would it mean the same to you again? Would you see me as the crazy savage messing around your controlled life?

Maybe that is the objective of memories. They are there to feed you at times, to wake them up when necessary, and, I should conclude, not to go back to them in the flesh, not to expect that a memory will live up to its expectations when you face a different time, when you are not aware that other events in life have changed the people in them. We are the same, but not the same. The moment is not there, only its memory.

... I still hope to see Miss Darling again. Maybe she finds me. I am easier to find.