Our book would never be read aloud
There would not be celebrations of milestones
Of souls in warmth and drunk embers of whispers that caressed wounded yesterdays
Our names would never be uttered in one breath
There would not be oohs and aahs at yellowed photographs
Of promises made in the silence of held hands
And yet
If I am not able to love again, the way that I do now…
I would toast to what you and I could have been
As frost of what’s left unspoken thaw and disappear
Because
We sought out the sun
And coaxed out the moon
As we basked and bathed
In love’s soothing serenade
And in those moments
Memories of you now
Would always
Always be enough for me.
