When years melt to months, and months soften to days, and days to day and day to night...

I will look at his expectant eyes, but never the same as I see you.

I will touch his refined face, but never as securing as I touch yours.

I will hold his taut hand, but never as tight. I will talk to him, but my words will be foreign as if they're never mine.

I will praise him with verity, but not the way as I worship you.

I will kiss his anticipating lips, but without the scorching longing as I wish I had with you.

I will smile solicitously at him, but not as sweet. Never with fondness.

I will love the totality of himself, but not and never like the way that I love you.

















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