I pulled you from my dreams, because we have yet to have this talk. I see your face has aged but your eyes are still the same. I know this took forever but here it goes. I still remember the walls in your room on the second floor of your parent’s home. I remember the bunk bed and your clothes scattered across the wooden floor. Tapping your fingers to your lips, as we guessed who opened their eyes first. All new and all exciting. Cigarette smoke danced from our lungs to our lips as we talked.  

We spoke of marriage and of death. The places we wanted to see and the people we had yet to meet. Those summer nights still feel like yesterday to me.

A never wilting flower, that remains in color amongst a field of gray. I’m sorry time gave us a test we clearly failed. But it’s still my favorite. Our hands remain apart, but our fingers stay crossed.

Fleeing, but we are one for a chase. Grasping the strands that are still left.

Configuring the past in screenplays as we sleep. The perfect symphony of hauntingly beautiful memories.

The snow builds within it's globe, as two ghostly lovers pirouette to 13 pieces, Op. 76: 2. Etude. Her dress swaying with the wind, his eyes forever fixed on hers.

I guess we have an innate love for breathing, I mean why else would we awake from dreaming?

With each loss a little light leaves your eyes, goodbyes have nothing to do with sunsets.

There is no longer a need for sleep. My dreams now manifest in daylight. These white knuckles wrestle stars into one another against the morning sky. The vail of daylight slowly emerges. pushing your face back into the darkness. It’s never the version we want, this thing called love.

When you lost your father, you told me life must run its course. I remember thinking you were so brave, although you fell asleep with my hand still wrapped in yours. That night you were sure you heard him speak, as lights from passing cars crawled from your toes up to your knees. I love you dear and one day you’ll be ok