I am seasonally affected by memories visited by the specters  of late November. I can only let it pass, safe again until the cherries bloom in spring.

There are nights when your touch is as slurred as your speech and I cannot stomach it.

It's well they left back then I've grown no easier to love

We met again in the season of foxgloves and you would not meet my eye but still it was good to see you even if from the other side of a cold shoulder.

I had tattooed him in my skin before ever we met but I knew him in his laughter. In that moment the fates carried the sound to my ears whispering “this is your always.” I’ve loved others before with a touch of cosmos the ever dancing gravity of lifetimes of orbit but he is singular, a fleeting gift. Our meeting was a rift in the verse a portal to a life beyond imagining. My recognition of him was not the familiarity of past lifetimes known but of a future falling into place. Vows forged in laughter consummation blessed in tears we’ll have a lifetime shared together until the tides of time take us.

In the end, you taught me what I wanted. When I went looking, I found conversation like ours and a hope like yours. But I looked too  for what you had not given. I met a man who was open who I could give the same. I learned after you not to let the truth be buried so when I loved him I did not hide it and in his time he loved me too. In the moments I was afraid the lesson of you pushed me forward in the least I would give my heart knowing it could be broken even if held back. He has accepted all every time given laughter and a future in return. I am grateful for your lessons and will adore you ever for their brief passions. 

I am grateful for the unmatched sweetness of watching you do the dishes (and wishing you were doing it right)