The dock feels empty now.
Lone cross in the distance.
Somehow, the swan’s song is not as beautiful as it once was.
Trails thin as winter sets in.
My coat pulled tight ‘round, visiting the fallen oak.
Cold air biting at earlobes and chapping lips.
Eyes burn, vision and judgment blurring.
Such hope.
Such.
Sweet.
Passionate.
Hope.
Appetite for love now pained knots.
Flittering butterflies now unmoving stones.
Lengthy epistles now few words.
Stolen moments now history lessons.
Knowing glances now avoided contact.
Warm smiles now awkward.
Lingering embraces now a gulf between.
Sunlight seems dimmer somehow.
I.
Cannot.
Breathe.
Without.
You.
Are.
My.
Heart.