I want to write about the way your lip curled. The way it cradled those words. I love you…
The way it gave me a world I’d never dreamed possible in that instant.
I want to write about the light. How it gilded the leaves, danced in a shimmering sheet, those ribbons of light, bathing my feet in their glow, glinting off children’s gleaming heads.
I want to write about the curve of your brow whose every nuance I’d come to understand. Whose line I'd traced a zillion times in every dream.
I want to write about your laughter, its music. Your voice like my heartbeat. Your breath like my own.
Your hands, tapering fingers, my beating heart nestled. And then they closed. Hard. A knot.
And instead all I find the words for are my tears, hot and wet as they trail down my cheeks.
Words, meaningless, to occupy the silence that fills our days, deep and thick. Words that smother all I once felt. Your words, like strangers in my mouth.
I should have loved you less. Why didn't you warn me?
I have nothing. Only the wrong words.
And a memory. The ghost of a memory. Nothing...