I knew my father fell out of love with my mother when his jawline began to tighten, and his eyes stopped looking at her, and started looking through her.

A nervous man, he kept to himself on quiet evenings, and not even an affectionate touch could quite wake him from his emotional purgatory; he was a prisoner of his own heart.

I knew my mother fell out of love when she stopped talking about the sky. Never did she point out the broad spectrum of colors that blanketed the canvas sheet dividing the space between earth and heaven.

A once thoughtful woman, my mother took on a very realistic lifestyle, and began extinguishing the fire that burned in her heart. Now she was cold, and now she was dark, and now the sky, once blue and dreamy, was nothing more than a blackened nightmare.

I've never been in love before, but I will pay close attention to my future lovers jawline. I will color him in with the colors of the sky, and I will cover him in kisses made of day dreams and fairy tales.

I've never been in love before, but I know it never lasts.
At least, not while we're imagining a life we'll never have.