Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.

Build monuments for her.
High and prime,
with lustrous gold trimmings
and intricate pearl accents.
Surrounded by clouds of lavender,
like tufts of perfection
whispering into a beautiful stranger's ears,
gentle drops of sound.
Strong pillars protecting
a most-prized acquisition.
Love,
cementing every brick,
bridging every gap.
Tides of satin caress the nearby shoreline
in an infinite melody.
Crescendoing all prayers of light
and a mother's kind brow.
Diminuendoing unanswered
sighs of temptation.
Dawn kisses wide arcs,
turning immortal sadness into
her favorite raging affliction,
Home.

It is
a single blood-red rose,
Lounging in a field
of Sunday morning daisies.

It is
a venerable novel,
ripe with life and adventure.
Love splattered across the pages.
The binding,
begging and writhing to free the secrets
coddled between the lines.

It is
how your mother takes her coffee.
A little cream,
no sugar,
and the promise of
9 AM jitters.

It is
Expecting a hurricane,
only, having to recover
from a day in the sunlight.
  
It is
a tiny footprint in the sand,
a greasy fingerprint on a doorknob,
the intricacies of a fragile snowflake.

But above all,

It is
You.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.