is it possible that you're brighter than a summers sun, that you smell of the rose bushes down the country paths?

is it possible that you shed tears like trees shed their leaves in autumn and become bare to the bone?

is it possible that your heart can be as cold as the icicles that hang from my drainpipe in the morning?

is it possible that you blossom beautiful like a spring lamb, full of joy and happiness?

as i sat by own, underneath the willow tree in the park.
a feather gracefully floated down to lay rest next to my leg, i looked up and yelled "IS THAT YOU?"
only to hear no reply, thinking, wondering.
what if it was really him, my grandad, my best friend, my guardian angel.
sent by god himself to watch over me, keep a close eye on my movements and to ensure that i done no wrong.
but how could i not?
it was always him whom kept me out of trouble
tears streaming down my face, i could do nothing but run off.
into inevitable problems ahead.

mornings where i awake and you're not beside me are the mornings i don't find worth making most of. left with just the bodyprint in my mattress of where you spent the night, the creases in the sheets are just signs that maybe you were real and not just figment of my imagination.

mornings, where i'm awoken by your legs hitting mine and your hair brushing past my nose, these are the mornings worth waking up for. i'd stare at you a little while, smile and budge a long giving you room to move. i'd awake you with the smell of bacon noisly sizzling from the pan.

but most mornings i wake up and realise, you were never there to begin with.