I wish I’d kissed you in Paris. As we sat by the river, your breath brushed my skin making me shiver.

Calling you friend now instead of lover will never feel right, as our shoulders gently touched under the soft moon light.

And as we walked together along those cobbled streets, I couldn’t help but think of all those nights spent tangled between sheets.

Where we’d made love whilst staring into each others eyes, never once thinking there’d be a moment when we’d say our final goodbyes.  

Yet they do say all good things must come to an end. And the irony of being in the most romantic city with the man that I loved, is that I had to call him friend.

We got on the train both knowing our lives were again about to split in two, but I think you could see in my eyes that it would be and could only ever be you.

You told me you loved me as I stepped out the door, an echo of a sentence you’d said a thousand times before.

And as your train sped into the future, you were gone much too fast, but I stood on the platform still stuck in the past.