To My Dearest: Moments

To my Dearest,

Were the nights and the days any sweeter with your smile in my thoughts,
I fear I would suffer, unable to move from the sugar crashes that your grin gifts me.

Spring these days refuses to decide whether to be mild or the fringe of winter.
Yet I feel it not, as your memory is a warmth wrapped around like the most unwieldy scarf:
knitted with every memory, every touch, every word,
that I have clutched on to as they have tumbled amongst the space between us.

I’ve crystalised every moment in shining amber,
so it catches the sunlight and slowly stretches the evenings for me,
so I’m with you for as long as I’m allowed.

I wake each morning surged by the fantasy of perhaps seeing you again today.
So hungry is that little stone in me is to see you.
And I am made a gleeful child, playing in his daydreams in worlds desperate to be true.
Make no mistake, dear life, I may joke and find it all good fun to do so,
but oh, am I serious on such manifestations.

Desperate am I for silence that I may repeat our past conversations, no matter small talk or short bursts.
Any excuse that I may hear your voice, even in the most inane ways.

I seek you, and wish you seek me too.
With all the love,
My Dearest