Someday
I, too, will write

And create a story as beautiful and hopeless as ours.
A story of wistfulness.
A story of sadness. Of lost love. Doomed love.
Oh, such blissful damnation it was.

I will recreate this story
Like how I held you once again in my dreams
How we smiled and talked and laughed again
Just like before.
And make people weep
Like I wept.

Someday, time and experience shall free me
To write like how I so desired today.

It's unraveling inside
Flooding and making a mess of things
And I'm helpless
Powerless to pour it out.
Words are still insufficient
- And perhaps will always be -
To capture what I had seen and felt.
(And what you truly meant to me.)

For a moment
All this rancor evaporated
To reveal the raw state of things.
I still miss you dearly, it seems. Perhaps I always will.

(The cold is slowly killing the dormant giant, but however long shall it take?)

And may I gladly accept it
As gladly as I have sought you out in the beginning
No longer carrying the shackles of bitterness on me.
Haven't I suffered enough, after all?