Thinking of the grey granite of the mountains; the green and brown of the trees that make me feel at peace. Blue skies and sunshine warm the soul. Thinking of a hand holding and a smile that to wake up to. Thinking of the warmth held close and a thumb touching a small mole on the back of an arm. Getting out of the warm bed to make eggs over easy, and toast with butter, perfect for dipping. Think of long walks down trails, the crunch of gravel under two pairs of feet on a moonlit night in October, breathe coming in little clouds with each spoken word. The smell of fall mixed with shampoo and lily of the valley, the crisp leaves shuddering in the trees. Beautiful children that will never be. And the tears that are falling write a little story on the cheeks with each streak they leave behind; an inky, smudged story that tells of a failed love. A love that could not conquer all. A little essay explaining that no, love is not all you need. Dream about green grass, a house with a big deck. Dream of the lightning and rain pouring down while watching a spring storm. Sipping wine and conversing; the thunder clap and downpour a soundtrack...that will never be. Growing older, getting fat but still looking into those eyes and feeling warmth inside. Feeling complete. An "I'll always love you" spoken beside a deathbed, and knowing that for the first time and last time, it is true.
These thoughts mean everything. And nothing.
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