I. I still get flashbacks. Like that time we explored a forest at a whim and found out we had a thing for bridges.
And I think it was because we were both awestruck with how easily we were connected by two apposing worlds, so we made our way to the middle of the arc to claim it as ours. And you used to hold me from behind with satin hands; a soft satin parachute that was ready to catch me if I ever fell.
And every single time I did, you were there. You cupped my big cheeks, the ones you always made fun of, and kissed me for the first time in the middle of green and bush like we were the first humans on earth, destined to be the last.
II. But now I'm staring out the window of my car and I'm freezing inside and out. The earth is no longer green; it's white, plain Jane and frozen.
It's surface is glistening against the moon and I'm witnessing more sleepless nights than I did when your presence was still part of my life. The sheets of snow look like sheets of cotton, so close to satin. So close.
But I promise you, Love, they could never replicate your touch.
It's covering the soil we used to explore on, as well as my leftover slivers of sanity I've barley managed to scavenge. And I can almost guarantee, if I fall, nothing will be there to catch me.
I still get flashbacks, mostly of our bridge. But it's just a memory now because all the green and bush and trees that once surrounded us have gone silent, all the trees have forgotten who we are, all the trees have turned to ash.