Dear you,
Was there ever a moment when you didn't matter? The sun rose and I thought of you. The sun set and I was unmoved. Your absence was a thread of darkness that bound me to a grim march of mediocre days, unasked and subservient. All words were hollow because they lacked you. Each movement was only a ghost, a potential, without your fire, your light, your heat. Come to me.

Can you question my devotion? I lit a candle in the porcelain basin below the mirror and shivered in its cold eternal reflections, tiny dancing pieces of distant light on the walls, scattered memories of the moment your eyes burned into mine. I long to gather them up but breath clouds in the air and I cannot move. I am helpless without you. Come to me.

Is passion so fraudulent you can so wholly disregard this soul, this naked unburdening? I stand before you shaken to the core, no longer attached to this world but by a single thread of hope. Love was impossible before you. Love is impossible now, in this swaying moment of dreadful possibility. Waiting. Come to me.

Come to me, that the clock may not be deprived of its ticking, the dawn of its hour, the shaky hand of penning the final word. Consummating fire burns. Its heat is yours.

There was never a moment when you didn't matter
                                                                                                                            Love, me