Is it bad if I say that I like death.
The absence of life in a body
holds something comforting to me.
Not the fact that they are gone
but that there is nothing I did wrong.

They are gone,
now belong, in the memories
of what they used to be.
And held close in my heart
are all my favourite parts,
which I cannot control
but chose to enrol,
in the memory
of what we used to be.

Love.
Love is not linear,
it bends and weaves, so sincere
as my tears fall with the leaves.
That road engraved in my brain,
you'll say I'm insane,
but I want to drive down it again.
Revive the possibility,
of holding you tight to me.

Leaves flutter,
love letters to you
and your perfect view,
you are my latibule.
I won't let you live alone.
So now, I gift you my home
and await the day, that I can return.