My darling dearest fled;
Are the cliffs forever cold?
There's so much inside your head.
Do you dream of days of old?
You left so much in your wake,
In your trip to the sea.
Remember to wish that it was fake,
And hope to forget me.
The ocean will treat you well,
As well as you treated the stars.
May you dance in the craters where you dwell
As you did when the moon was ours.
Do not mourn!
We are not dead.
We do not remember you with scorn!
I respect where you've made your bed,
And wish you love forever more.

The sentence looks like someone who's sibling I used to be,
smells like sand and Pepto Bismol.
and is wet and warm and sticky.
As it sounds like a gun shot in an apartment in Virginia,
The sentence whispers to me a time of death.

The old woman ran a leathery hand through her cropped hair.
"Yes, you may weep for the fields of green, as they were gorgeous yet thought to be boring."
She rocked back and forth and her wrinkled face contorted into a smile for the first time in the conversation.
"You may always cry for the tulip fields as they were devastatingly beautiful yet loathed."
And yet, as soon as her face had lit up like a thousand suns, it was once again devoid of expression.
"But, nonetheless, reserve your pity for those that loved he or she that burned out,
for every lover of Icarus knows that it is better to be hated than to go unnoticed."

Eric thought the other boy was beautiful, so he took pictures.
He took his smirk
He took the cliche sparkle from his eyes
He took everything
Until his beautiful boy was gone
And all he had were photos of nothing