He was beautiful
But in the ways you'd think
He was beautiful
In the sense that his words tasted like a hurricane
The way his lips brushed mine
with the feeling of security
That everything would be okay again
He was beautiful
In the way he carried an air of timeless empathy about him
How he felt against the rhythmic beating of my heart
He was beautiful in the way he was there through my bad ideas
And in our time together
I had many bad ideas
He was beautiful
Because he knew what I needed to hear
The words he last spoke to me
He was beautiful
Because he refused to taste the sadness as it crept up inside
Even when it was the last thing I gave to him.

Boy, I'll tell you what we were.
We were the puddle, but never the rain.
The shadow, but never the light.
Boy, we were the leaves, spiralling downwards,
But never the tree.
We were the whisper, but never the words.
We were sparks, just after the fire had died,,
and only ash and smoke were left.
The quiet expectation between the roaring thunder.
We were a thought, slipping off a tongue.
A question, but never an answer.
Boy, we were always what could've been
Except sometimes, we were.