After every season, I hang on to the emblems that jog memory of your empathetic and yet dejected ways. At the cusp of movement, I reach into the forgotten drawer where you leave your notes and letters that contain the manner of your leaking posture of which I have long forgotten.
In keeping with the change of season, I reach for the torch that sets fire to my endless tears of the distant howl. Progressively he destroys the irrelevant and nostalgic thoughts that are cemented in the, now, burning letters. One after another, each letter and then each word disappear with the fiery black smoke that hovers over the ardent embers.
The ashes pile and leave a blank and hopeful remain. One word left untouched that I now keep close to my soul with a renewed compassion to seek once more the expression of affection. That "love" remains in the murky collapse of pain.