It was raining when we first touched;
The sweet innocence of tipsy impulse.
Nothing too close, too real, not to me.

It was dark as we shared our burdens and fears;
Whispered words stumbling out in desperate breaths.
Certainty found in uncertainties.

It was the first snow of the year that I saw falling as I lay in your arms;
The gentle drift of gravity.
Now it's all too close, all too real. To me.