I love the early morning snow sheen in the valley of my psyche. It makes me happy to see you smiling from the glass of memories over the hill. Whenever I feel like being sad, I remember the look in your eyes when you told me you loved me. I live forever on a hope and a dream that you might rescue me from this harsh reality. I sniffle into the cold air as I write upon these blank, cold pages.
I miss the way you saw the doves in the heart of flowers upon the door. You my angel, the silver and gold apples in the sky. This glass vase of emotions will never fulfill its purpose.
I gaze upon this worthless scenario filled with false hope and accusations. It behooves me to pretend that I believe in you, but it puts upon me a defection in the emotions thrust upon me.
An honesty that I will never feel sits upon an untouchable table in front of me; taunting with its vague induction into reality.
