Of love, of separation and your brief stay.
I think of you as I walk the town
On lonely evenings on the nearby lawn.
You quietly follow me on a gentle morning,
I turn around and you're no longer near.
I write the words on a piece of paper.
I write a poem; I write you a letter.
You touch my hand and I cease to write,
I turn around and I see you fade away.
I think you're gone and I need to move on.
I swallow the words, I bury it all.
I tear the paper; I let you go
While you stand there, mutely watching it all.