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.