Will I feel his ashes as they fall against mine? I think of the snowflakes on Pelion, cold on our red cheeks. The yearning for him is like hunger, hollowing me. Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free. His ashes settle among mine, and I feel nothing.
A concept: eating fresh fruit on a balcony in Greece during the golden hour with little or no clothing on, hair tied in a bun, wine in my glass, the beach close by
“When I first saw you,
I was afraid to talk to you.
When I first talked to you, I was afraid to like you.
When I first liked you, I was afraid to love you.
Now that I love you, I’m afraid to lose you.”
