I lay my pen then close my eyes,
think of the times that slipped us by.
Relive the laughs we will not have,
we were as one but now just half.
Turn the page a different tale,
we were both good, never went stale.
Always a theme in stories told,
kissed by warm lights melting the cold.
A fairytale from long ago,
when knees were bent, while life flowed slow.
As liquid words absorb all ink,
diminished love, made our hearts sink.
Stories are told, one day at a time,
no clear-cut views, reason, or rhyme.
A simple truth that was perceived,
lived long ago by you and me.
Written by young hearts filled with hope,
climbing steep hills and endless ropes.
Adventures end with distinct paths,
glad to have met your exposed hand.
– Grace Y. Estevez