| Lost In The Right Places |

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.

Spring: You had sunset eyes; beautiful to stare at, but they told the story of a life that had been steadily moving downward. Summer: Dusk melted into your smile and watched while happiness became an ocean for our paper hearts to drown in. Fall: There are never enough letters to house broken hearts, but we still break glasses to borrow emotion for self combustion to write a new lullaby. Winter: My sadness tastes a lot like your name tonight.