time to love again

the winter had finally set in across Paris and the city was beginning to freeze under blankets of snow. some nights we would watch shadows dance on the walls as the snow fell like feathers and the fire smoked in silence. she would rest against my chest for warmth, falling asleep as the sky bled with midnight and my heart bled with pain.

although the time for me to write about the love that I found in the summer was beginning to end, I still felt like there was so much more to say. so much more to write about how she stole my heart with her blue eyes, how she froze my soul with her touch and how she took things from me that I would never really know.

tired bloodshot eyes, the smell of wine on her breath and cigarettes on mine. her blonde hair on the pillow, the white towels on the floor and her body pressed against mine. the layer of salt on her brow and the tracing of black ink across her wrist. the way she felt like home to me under the crisp white sheets and the way I felt like I knew her in another life.

church bells in the morning, espresso by the Cattedrale, sex with the window ajar and the white curtains alive in the breeze. a saxophone soothing the pink sky to sleep at night. the moon hung gently like a wallpaper, the dancing in the square and the way her body screamed with youth and dreams for a future that was far enough away not to really care.

the uncontrollable crying, the way my heart felt ripped out of my chest when she left and my body shivered on top of the bed. the way that it felt like it would never get better and the way that I knew my life would never be the same. the way that I invented it all for you, the way that I invented me for you, and the way I missed you in every way.

the way that you told me it was like you had everything, and then nothing, but how could you have had everything if you never had me?

the way you chose not to feel something you obviously did, but to make yourself feel nothing, so as not to feel anything, what a waste.

and although you had that same look in your eye that said 'maybe I loved you'. I knew in my heart it would never be the same. the tragedy had reached its close, her skin cold and white and the blood dull in her veins. yet after tall this time, it was still better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all.