I took a walk today.
It seemed the thing to do
On a day like this.
A day so clear you could see forever.
When the winter sun burns
Through the last trembling leaves
And the air so bright it sears your skin.

I found my way to your secret place
Through roads I thought had been lost,
To a room
It's wooden floor marred with dust.
And there
Three rose petals marked your place:
White
White
And blue.

One color, I realized, was missing

It was violet
A royal color
Color for a queen
Color for your eyes

I sighed, and sat, and closed my eyes
And waited for you to find me.


Today is much like yesterday
Going by like the one before.
I'm losing minutes
Hours sometimes.
Days more often.

Today I looked through
Old letters you wrote me.
The words seemed to leap off the page.
They are your words
Even if you are no longer here
To claim them.

It occurs to me then
That you are not here at all
That you will never claim your words
Those that could describe
The beauty of misery
And laugh
In the same breath.

Your eyes will never shed
Another tear.
You will never reflect
On the beauty of the moon.
You will never need again.
You will never scream again.
You will never love again.

Times like this
Memories seem to cut
Like a lash on a whip.
How curious
That pain doesn't fade
Only scar.


I found my way to the field again.
The ivy had grown a little
Though mostly marauding beasts
Had kept it at bay.

I sat down in the snow
And let myself drift
Like the first day I really knew you,
Hoping
Maybe
That the act would bring memories of warm nights.
When it did
I regretted it.

Later, drink.
The alcohol intensifying thought
My mad scribbling
Describing some great, operatic meaning.
In the end, though
I realize it is simply your name on the page.

The next morning
I felt nothing at all.
And for a while
That was a relief.


Days still pass like seconds
With little meaning.
And I still find myself searching
Waiting for your form
To glide free of the beams.
I am still waiting for you
And always will be
On the other, better side

I love you
There isn't a moment I've lived
That you can't call your own

Always

Fortenrus

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Slyphian, in the year 144 MA.