Thank you my dear, for the love you gave me, for caring about me for trying your best and teaching me to appreciate the little things in life
I'm sorry I was so stuck in a forest with a broken compass, that the shadows of the forest clawed out from the darkness into the abyss of my soul
Now that the wind has left behind the dust; our memories, have I realized how careless my words have made you felt and the branches; my heart snaps and howls into the wind, with these thoughts of regret.
I still miss you and wished "if only..."
It's true that you don't realize things until you loose that person/out of a dark situation. I left "if only" as an open ended statement since there could be so many things that could be said with "if only.." (e.g. if only I was more self aware, if only I didn't say those words etc etc.) I know sorry wouldn't help but from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry for hurting you the way I never wanted to.
Theirs always that person who you won't forget about no matter what you go through in life you just seem to always get flashback of the moments you had with that one special person but nobody could ever replace that one special person wish I had a magic wond to clear out my mind but no matter what that special person seem to come up my mind ...
What I visioned was warmed steel winds - brilliant soft glow crystal Autumn light at the center of the heart the rush of slow rains pulled away from its quartzed source to let dance a sacred stray away from the lucent **** born herself to those turned monuments in our memory an echo - the innocent born from the energy of a new Spring - quenched of a natural thirst allowing a climb like ascending fire dust from logs spent in the night - Electric light.
What I found was that glow but distant the Autumn light absent its blare The innocent echo dulled because it was the idea that was the love affair - not Electric - but Citrine light like deserts - magnetic to view yet ambitious to live The quite crescent of ocean absent the meld of sunned foamed height - A liquid soar or beiged meadows the slightly felled allure of Sycamore.