Her eyes were like the mirror reflections of all the cities he
wished
to
see.

He want to travel to all of them.
Every single street-light or star light
for that matter,
to
kiss
his skin.

Her lips & little smile creases held
the lines and angles
that
were
co-ordinates to
those
unspoken
wishes.

Those crimson cheeks were colours that reminded him of those days of balmy summer.
Rhapsodic notes of laughter finishing the hum of warmth.

Her words were undoubtedly the ones he traces on his wrists when skies are grey and black.

Her fingertips and hands gently reminded him
of

*g                    
                     r                            
                                             a                                      
                   v
                                     i      
                                      t
                                                  y.

Her eyelids cracked open slightly.

Momentarily, they slowly close again.
Sleep was still languidly dancing across it.

Then she sees sunlight peeking through the little gaps of her curtains.

Dust-motes whisper 'Good morning' as they flit in the buttery-white light.

And, goodness me,
just like
that
her sleepy gaze
met
*magic.

People tell me with hushed lips and pained irises,
(pain really only flickers and quietly sinks deep within the absolute oblivions of you.)
that it will get better.
"You grieve, I have done it. Every person has."

Not for this one.

Not for him or her that is.

She had the sort of wittiness that would cut right though that
buttery feeling of warmth
wisped from
one hell of
a
smile.
Guess whose?

He had one of the loveliest voices, one that lulls your tired eyelids to much needed sleep.
A voice that will inexplicably grasp your fingertips when you feel utterly lost and breathless with pain.

And, I could go
   on,  
on
&
on.

Just that my very voice will be cracked
by
the
sweet, bitter
goodbye
whispered by
the yellowing memories
of    

*them.

"Hold my hand
Her quiet eyes widened,

and a little question mark
peek-a-boos
at
the edges of her lashes.

?"

His fingertips laced into hers.
Nail against nail.
Wrist to wrist.

There, I can almost feel your heart beat.

It is the surest thing
next to
gravity
in this
s t a r r y
universe,
sweet-heart.