I found all your written letters,
The ones coloured with flowing ink.
Creating abstract memories on paper,
Sewing together every bone in body,
and weaving together fragments of forgotten seconds.
Wherever you were, I found your ink traced flowers,
Preserved within pages of foreign stories,
Resembling the token of lost time,
Covered in graphite that has travelled seas,
Oceans made of everlasting memories.
And with every word I read,
I set a dozen flowers free.
The ones traced in scribbled ink,
And watch them as they aged.
Hoping if I let them go, I would find something new,
And that time would set you free, every time your words reached me.