But you could live without me, right?

You've done an excellent job of proving it so far, love.

Once I'm yours, everything stops.
Doubt brushes up my spine, the ghost of every romance gone wrong.
The missteps and mistakes that broke the spell, or simply chased away what was already dead and gone from our hearts.

How can I ever know what swirls behind your eyes and moves beneath your skin, if you're never inclined to show me or tell me of your secret way?

I lie in bed at night and wonder if you find me beautiful, or worthwhile to you...

You read my poetry with stone lips and brittle eyes.

You seek not the light that stirs within me. I know only that light. You seem now to be nothing but a moth, who's attention I'd held for a tentative breath.

A breath that was ****** into the grand hurricane of life itself, born to be nothing more than a quiet whisper on a dark, still night when I'm in some far away place, alone.

It was dissipated on the cold northern winds, scattered on freshly fallen snow in some forgotten place you and I have lost the map to.