The deep crimson wine simmers beneath the weight of your tears,  
your timid gaze fleeing from the shadows of your fears.  
How can we ever measure the depths of your anxieties,  
as they pull you toward destinations that seem to beckon endlessly?  

Underneath our shared facade, time rushes like a fleeting breeze—  
our days slip away, morphing into weeks,  
while your knees buckle under the weight of memories,  
the fractures of your bones now echoing the passage of years;  
some days shine brightly, while others cast a dull shadow.  

I often picture you from that last summer—  
the way you carried your father's care, the way
of your mother’s confidence radiated through you;  
how beautifully they intertwined
I reminisce about the home we once shared,  
our dreams adrift in the currents of our minds,  
fragile skins brushing against one another,  
as scars bleed into one another.  

I found a heart, one I never truly possessed,  
and I was overjoyed—yet now it feels like a distant memory,  
all those moments now lost to time;  
I wish I had clung to them more tightly.