Its been a very long time and on those walks through the green lanes of the dusty memories you have faded into oblivion. Consciously you had been uncoupled a long time ago the subconscious uncoupling took a little longer and though the spark of your black eyes still shines through my being I have forgotten the touch of your voice.
In the alleys of rationality I had nailed parts of you to the walls and flowingly concluded that you were but a myth in my head, an obsession of mine. That you were not real but a creation of my own. I have walked through those alleys over and over again, looked at those parts and applauded myself at your creation. But as the alleys widen into the light of your laughter my heart aches for that which I have not known and cries for that which I have.
And now that I have painted you so beautifully onto this canvass I am tired. I feel the summer breeze through my hair and I am tired. Tired of you hanging on to the ends of the new memories that are being formed, tired of you running in my blood as I blush at virgin praises, tired of your voice in head and your words on my lips. I am tired. Of you. And your existence.