He gazes at me, soft and warm,

But yet, somehow it seems to me,

His eyes no longer hold a storm,

They see me with uncertainty.

The air we breathe feels thin and cold,

A ghost of warmth where passion burned.

Conversations, hollow, fold,

Like fragile wings, at each word turned.

His heart, a garden parched and dry,

Once bloomed for me, a vibrant scene.

Now withers with each day gone by,

To him, I’m but a faded dream.

Like frost upon a window pain,

My features blur then melt away,

A flame snuffed out, a cry in vain,

Like swirling smoke, I fade to gray.