From the lips of a frost bitten heart, the sound of self isolation is heard. Never searching to find hands that fit theirs.
Only seeking strangers hearts to fill thier own. Swallowed innocent and still beating with curiosity. Passing along the emptiness, forever leaving the best kinds of love in books and movies.

It should be a room covered with pages of poetry, one for every day that I've been in love with you. Scattered all across our sheets, the floor, and our dresser. The room should be softly lit, by white Christmas lights draped around the ceiling. It should be so intimate, that as you step inside, you should feel each word coming alive. Each feeling resurfacing, every kiss, and all my love.
Forever.

I've finally realized that all these words were never meant to make you feel special.
I only used your ghost over the years to calm mine. Now that the ringing has finally stopped lovely,
so can you.

Time has changed the way I view you,
I'm long past, falling in love with the thought of you.
Trying so hard to remember what your touch felt like,
Or trying to remember the sound of your laugh.
I've finally accepted letting you go.
I must say it played out differently plenty of times.
Like the image of the two of us slowing dancing in a feild,
While the sound of "There goes my baby" plays in the distance. We lock eyes one final time and gently loosen our grip on one another's hands. Your longing eyes and haunting smile grace me one last time. The music gets louder and louder, as we drift further into the brush.
Somewhere inside of the sadness I find acceptance,
I find the truth. The most extraordinary things are rare and usually don't last long. This is why these things change us forever.

Lay, calm and still. I'll put the kettle on. Our sunday morning routine begins. She lays in bed and rolls from side to side. Occasionally extending her arms to stretch away the nights rest. I, boil the water and line the ceramic mugs evenly on the counter. Tea bags already placed inside and tied to the handle. As the sun creeps through the blinds, it's heat settles into the wooden floors. From the kicchen I can hear the sound of our vinyl player dropping a record into place. Then, as the music slowly starts, the kettle begans to whistle. A soft morning kiss and our day has begun.

Theres an old cabin at the edge of the ocean, where salt and the summer sun are trapped in it's aging wood. Small peices of the past still linger within it's walls. Like ripples leading us through worm holes, and back into thier arms. The scent of purfume softly misted within the passing breeze, will feel like its stopped the world around you.

As you close your eyes in the moment, you could still feel the sensation of their warm lips grazing yours. The unforgettable feeling of thier body heat dancing around you. The oils from the fingertips, pressed firmly against your jaw line.

Thier essence slowly fading, but never quite gone.