Love.
Our love is like a leaf on a tree,
slowly withering away.
Like a tear that trickles down my face.
Like the look of eternal sorrow that occupies your face.
Time.
I wish we could stop it,
reverse,
and repair our live in which we willingly destroyed.
Go back,
back in time,
to a place where our love was infinate.
Where it was vivid,
full of colorful spirals,
which held our vitality.
A myrid of sparkles in your eyes as you held me close.
Engulfed in your kiss,
sweet with love.
Smiles.
They never ended.
Your's,
seen from miles away, has now lost it's valuable shine.
Our lives,
collided,
crashed,
then stopped.
Slowly,
just maybe,
we could repair the damage.
Someday.