Was he the morning you remember,
with coffee, warm in bed, and the sun shining on the water?
Did he fill your eyes, with his lopsided smile?
Could you picture a future, could you feel his absent touch?
Did you glimpse him in the face of others, seek to catch and hold the feeling, all too quickly gone?
Was he there in the hollow dawn, in the empty spaces between the words?
And was he the answer,
to a question unasked?
Could you have loved him, had he loved you not?
For you are scribed in violet ink on the lacuna in his heart.
And he loves you.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
Was he the morning you remember,
with coffee, warm in bed, and the sun shining on the water?
Did he fill your eyes, with his lopsided smile?
Could you picture a future, could you feel his absent touch?
Did you glimpse him in the face of others, seek to catch and hold the feeling, all too quickly gone?
Was he there in the hollow dawn, in the empty spaces between the words?
And was he the answer,
to a question unasked?
Could you have loved him, had he loved you not?
For you are scribed in violet ink on the lacuna in his heart.
And he loves you.
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