When I said that I was moving on, I didn’t really mean it.
I wasn’t ready to tell people
My parents
My friends
That we were over.

I don't know why you said you didn’t love me,
Because I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I think in the end, you were just bored
And I was over it,
Tired of being sorry for things I wasn’t actually sorry for.
Three months of on again off again *******.

And yet, when you saw me with him,
You weren’t ready to move on.
You wanted me back. Or love back.

And I think that shows,
That neither of us were moving on.

I’m not moving on, after all.
And that might be my biggest mistake yet.

I have never met an alaskan sunrise that I did not fall in love with.
Its warmth spills over the tundra
and filters through the interstices of the bowed willows.

The rose and golden hues greet the mighty Yukon River
Where hundreds of salmon teem beneath the rising sun,
glistening all shades of pink.

The blueberries turn violet when kissed by the morning light
As do the moose as they wade through glacial lakes
Where water lilies drift around their legs.

On the coast,  
Starfish poke out from under their rocks,
And sea otters float lazily with their babies on their stomachs,
anticipating the warmth of the sun.

Every morning, I fall in love with the life and the beauty that Alaska sunrises bring.

Speaking the language of flowers is not as easy as it seems.
It is difficult to have words roll languid off a tongue sticky with honey,
And more so to match those words with a dulcet tone,
mellifluous enough to ****** the most austere minds.

Don’t be so syrupy that they lose their sweet tooth,
But be just enough to leave them lusting after your words.

I miss the way that you used to fight a smile, with your eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted--

And I miss the way the tundra crunched when I walked on it in spring, still frozen--

But that doesn't mean that I would still love you the same.

When I say that I miss you, I mean I miss being able to listen to certain songs without getting sad
being able to drive down every road without being flooded with memories
of a time we loved one another.

When I say I miss home I mean I miss the feeling of comfort the emptiness brought.  
Being able to look through childhood pictures without crying.

And my biggest fear of all is seeing you again and realizing you're not the same, and neither am I. And the love isn't there.

Or going home and knowing, it isn't how I left it and I've changed too. It doesn't bring me happiness like it used to.

When comparing things that you miss,
you start to realize:
even if you meet again, the person won't be the same one that loved you.
Just like even when you go home again, it won't be the same place you once craved.