Time never touched you. It touched me and then I seemed to regret everything. Your hair in my face, eyes in my mind, a darkness I found in you. But you don’t regret. You hold within. You feel in memory because love lost is still a love once had. You remember passion, conversations over dinner, moments interwoven before each other. We die to live, not die to cry over memories which don’t last our expected timeframe.

I don’t need karma. I don’t need revenge. I know when you’re forty you’ll wish you had. I’ll linger in the night and my touch will be too far from you. But I figure what’s sad isn’t that I’ll have moved on, it’s that I might be dead and you’ll never know if you even had a chance.

I stumbled upon something and someone so magnificent I was truly blind to it.

It seemed like you had the world at your fingertips, but I guess what I missed was how you bit your lip at every question.

Wrote you a poem or two. You didn’t enjoy them, but I did for you.