Until My Pen Stops

Even his touch conveyed the softest whispers.

He was beyond my comprehension... did he even exist?
"I must have been dreaming," my mind whimpers.
Why did he feel so wonderful to me?
Why did he come into my life?

My thoughts cease whenever his eyes rested upon me.
What am I going to do?
I reach out helplessly, watching the image turn to smoke.
I am forced to stare at memories.

Not one hour goes by without the very thought of him... of us.
Time weakened my fortitude; my heart rebels and fights for its life daily.
It hurts me to be without him, to not care for and love him.
I still count the days since he last touched me.

I can never tell him how much I miss him.
So I will write and write, until the tears and my pen stop.