A Trail Of Lamplight And Flowers To Guide Her Way Home
And thought maybe, you might want to have it still. I remember that night. It felt like you were coming home to me. And it was either that night or the night before … the first time we made love. It seems like madness now to think that I picked all those damned flowers and you weren’t even coming back here. I denuded the yard of almost everything. And the photo was supposed to have been taken when it was still light. I was still picking when darkness crept up on me.
But it was worth it. You were coming home, and I’d missed you so. I remember how real it felt. I couldn’t imagine anything could feel that real and still only live in the imagination.
Still feels that way. Which is how it can hurt so much I think. The memories of those days seem almost as real sometimes as the memories of the days we were actually together. I wouldn’t trade the memory of those days to spare myself the pain of the others, for anything.
Forgot about this song that night …
I think of all the changes I went through. I read those emails and see my love growing. It was like the sketch of a painting which was is now almost finished. Not quite … it never had that chance. I think of the list of ways you’ve changed me I wrote earlier today. We were only together about than a month, all combined. Sometimes I think it’s best that there are so few, as it’s easier to remember the individual days that way. Then I realize how fucking idiotic that is. I’d trade five years of my life for the memory of just one more day with you. There never would have been enough days. Not if we had lifetimes to live them.